LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    H.    H.    Kfl iani 


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H.    DE    BALZAC 


THE    COMEDIE    HUMAINE 


He   sat   himself   down    quietly   at   the   roadside. 


H.    DE     BALZAC 


THE  CHOUANS 

(Les  Chouans) 


AND 


The  Conscript 

(Le  Requisitionaire) 


TKAN8LATB1)    BY 


ELLEN    MARRIAGE 


WITH  A   PREFACE  BY 


GEORGE    SAINTSBURY 


tSf 


PHILADELPHIA 

The  Gebbie  Publishing  Co.,  Ltd. 
1897 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PREFACE ix 

THE   CHOUANS 

I.   THE   AMBUSCADE I 

II.    A   NOTION   OF   FOUCHE's 67 

III.    A    DAY   WITHOUT   A   MORROW I95 

THE   CONSCRIPT 367 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


HE   SAT    HIMSELF    DOWN    QUIETLY   AT  THE   ROADSIDE     .  Frontispiece 

PAGB 

"  READ   IT,"    SHE  SAID   WITH    A   SARCASTIC   SMILE  ...        99 


CAME   IN   SIGHT   OF   THE   CHATEAU    OF   THE   VIVETIERE              .           .  I42 

WENT   OUT  OF  THE   TOWN   THROUGH   THE   GATE   OF   ST.    SULPICE   .  303 

"  CONFESS   YOUR   SINS   TO   ME  " 324 

Drawn  by  D.  Murray  Smith. 


PREFACE. 

When,  many  years  after  its  original  publication,  Balzac 
reprinted  "  Les  Chouans  "  as  a  part  of  the  "  Comedie  Hu- 
maine,"  he  spoke  of  it  in  the  dedication  to  his  old  friend  M. 
Theodore  Dablin  as  "perhaps  better  than  its  reputation." 
He  probably  referred  to  the  long  time  which  had  passed  with- 
out a  fresh  demand  for  it;  for  it  first  made  his  fame,  and 
with  it  he  first  emerged  from  the  purgatory  of  anonymous 
hack-writing.  It  would  therefore  have  argued  a  little  ingrati- 
tude in  him  had  he  shown  himself  dissatisfied  with  the  original 
reception.  The  book,  however,  has,  it  may  be  allowed,  never 
ranked  among  the  special  favorites  of  Balzacians ;  and  though 
it  was  considerably  altered  and  improved  from  its  first  form, 
it  has  certain  defects  which  are  not  likely  to  escape  any  reader. 
In  it  Balzac  was  still  trying  the  adventure-novel,  the  novel  of 
incident ;  and  though  he  here  substitutes  a  nobler  model — 
Scott,  for  whom  he  always  had  a  reverence  as  intelligent  as  it 
was  generous — for  the  Radcliffian  or  Lewisian  ideals  of  his 
nonage,  he  was  still  not  quite  at  home.  Some  direct  personal 
knowledge  or  experience  of  the  matters  he  wrote  about  was 
always  more  or  less  necessary  to  him ;  and  the  enthusiasm 
with  which  he  afterwards  acknowledged,  in  a  letter  to  Beyle, 
the  presence  of  such  knowledge  in  that  writer's  military  pas- 
sages, confesses  his  own  sense  of  inferiority. 

It  is  not,  however,  in  the  actual  fighting  scenes,  though  they 
are  not  of  the  first  class,  that  the  drawbacks  of  "  Les  Chouans" 
lie.  Though  the  present  version  is  not  my  work,  I  translated 
the  book  some  years  ago,  a  process  which  brings  out  much 

(ix) 


X  PREFACE. 

more  vividly  than  mere  reading  the  want  of  art  which  dis- 
tinguishes the  management  of  the  story.  There  are  in  it  the 
materials  of  a  really  first-rate  romance.  The  opening  skirmish, 
the  hairbreadth  escape  of  Montauran  at  Alen^on,  the  scenes 
at  the  Vivetiere,  not  a  few  of  the  incidents  of  the  attack  on 
Fougeres,  and,  above  all,  the  finale,  are,  or  at  least  might 
have  been  made,  of  the  most  thrilling  interest.  Nor  are  they 
by  any  means  ill  supported  by  the  characters.  Hulot  is  one 
of  the  best  of  Balzac's  grognard  heroes;  Montauran  may  be 
admitted  by  the  most  faithful  and  jealous  devotee  of  Scott  to 
be  z.jeune premier  who  unites  all  the  qualifications  of  his  part 
with  a  freedom  from  the  flatness  which  not  un frequently  char- 
acterizes Sir  Walter's  own  good  young  men,  and  which  drew 
from  Mr.  Thackeray  the  equivocal  enconium  that  he  should 
like  to  be  mother-in-law  to  several  of  them.  Marche-a-Terre 
is  very  nearly  a  masterpiece ;  and  many  of  the  minor  person- 
ages are  excellent  for  their  work.  Only  Corentin  (who,  by 
the  way,  appears  frequently  in  other  books  later)  is  perhaps 
below  what  he  ought  to  be.  But  the  women  make  .up  for  him. 
Mademoiselle  deVerneuil  has  admirable  piquancy  and  charm; 
Madame  du  Gua  is  a  good  bad  heroine ;  and  Francine  is  not 
a  mere  soubrette  of  the  machine-made  pattern  by  any  means. 

Those  who  have  only  a  slight  acquaintance  with  the 
"  Com^die  Humaine "  must  have  noticed  that  chapter- 
divisions  are  for  the  most  part  wanting  in  it,  or  are  so  itfi 
and  of  such  enormous  lengths  that  they  are  rather  parts  than 
chapters.  It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  this  was 
an  original  peculiarity  of  the  author's,  or  one  founded  on  any 
principle.  Usually,  though  not  invariably,  the  original  edi- 
tions of  his  longer  novels,  and  even  of  the  shorter  tales,  are 
divided  into  chapters,  with  or  without  headings,  like  those  of 
other  and  ordinary  mortals.  But  when  he  came  to  codify 
and  arrange  the  "  Comedie,"  he  for  some  reason,  which  I  do 
not  remember  to  have  seen  explained  anywhere  in  his  letters, 


PREFACE.  xi 

Struck  out  these  divisions,  or  most  of  them,  and  left  the  books 
solid,  or  merely  broken  up  into  a  few  parts.  Thus  "  Le  Der- 
nier Chouans  "  (the  original  book)  had  thirty-two  chapters, 
though  it  had  no  chapter-headings,  while  the  remodeled  work 
as  here  given  has  only  three,  the  first  containing  nearly  a 
fifth,  the  second  nearly  two  fifths,  and  the  third  not  much  less 
than  half  of  the  whole  book.  I  do  not  think  it  improved  his 
books  at  any  time,  and  in  the  more  romantic  class  of  them  it 
is  a  distinct  disadvantage. 

"Le  Dernier  Chouan  ou  La  Bretagne  en  1800"  first  ap- 
peared in  March,  1829,  published  in  four  volumes,  by  Canel, 
with  a  preface  (afterwards  suppressed)  bearing  date  the  15th 
January  of  the  same  year.  Its  subsequent  form,  with  the 
actual  title,  threw  the  composition  back  to  August,  1827,  and 
gave  Fougeres  itself  as  the  place  of  composition.  This  re- 
vised form,  or  second  edition,  appeared  in  1834  in  two 
volumes,  published  by  Vimont.  When,  twelve  years  later,  it 
took  rank  in  the  "  Comedie  Humaine "  as  part  of  the 
"Scenes  de  la  vie  Militaire,"  a  second  preface  was  inserted, 
which  in  its  turn  was  canceled  by  the  author. 

"  Le  Requisitionaire  "  (The  Conscript)  was  issued  by  the 
"Revue  de  Paris"  of  February  23,  1831,  and  may  be  called, 
assuredly  in  no  uncomplimentary  or  slighting  sense,  an  anec- 
dote rather  than  a  story.  G.  S. 


THE  CHOUANS 

OR   BRITTANY   IN    1 799 

To  M.  Theodore  Dublin,  Merchant, 
My  fir  si  book  to  7ny  earliest  friend. 

De  Balzac, 

I 

THE  AMBUSCADE 

In  the  early  days  of  the  year  VIII.  at  the  beginning  of 
Vendemiaire,  or  towards  the  end  of  the  month  of  September, 
1799,  reckoning  by  the  present  calendar,  some  hundred  peas- 
ants and  a  fair  number  of  townspeople  who  had  set  out  from 
Fougeres  in  the  morning  to  go  to  Mayenne,  were  climbing 
the  mountain  of  the  Pelerine,  which  lies  about  half-way  be- 
tween Fougeres  and  Ernee,  a  little  place  where  travelers  are 
wont  to  break  their  journey.  The  detachment,  divided  up 
into  larger  and  smaller  groups,  presented  as  a  whole  such  an 
outlandish  collection  of  costumes  and  brought  together  indi- 
viduals belonging  to  such  widely  different  neighborhoods  and 
callings  that  it  may  be  worth  while  to  describe  their  various 
characteristics,  and  in  this  way  impart  to  the  narrative  the 
lifelike  coloring  that  is  so  highly  valued  in  our  day,  although, 
according  to  certain  critics,  this  is  a  hindrance  to  the  portrayal 
of  sentiments. 

Some  of  the  peasants — most  of  them  in  fact — went  barefoot. 
Their  whole  clothing  consisted  in  a  large  goat-skin,  which 
covered  them  from  shoulder  to  knee,  and  breeches  of  very 

(1) 


2  THE   CHOUANS. 

coarse  white  cloth,  woven  of  uneven  threads,  that  bore  witness 
to  the  neglected  state  of  local  industries.  Their  long  matted 
locks  mingled  so  habitually  with  the  hairs  of  their  goat-skin 
cloaks,  and  so  completely  hid  the  faces  that  they  bent  upon 
the  earth,  that  the  goat-skin  might  have  been  readily  taken 
for  a  natural  growth,  and  at  first  sight  the  miserable  wearers 
could  hardly  be  distinguished  from  the  animals  whose  hide 
now  served  them  for  a  garment.  But  very  shortly  a  pair  of 
bright  eyes  peering  through  the  hair,  like  drops  of  dew  shining 
in  thick  grass,  spoke  of  a  human  intelligence  within,  though 
the  expression  of  the  eyes  certainly  inspired  more  fear  than 
pleasure.  Their  heads  were  covered  with  dirty  red  woolen 
bonnets,  very  like  the  Phrygian  caps  that  the  Republic  in 
those  days  had  adopted  as  a  symbol  of  liberty.  Each  carried 
a  long  wallet  made  of  sacking  over  his  shoulder  at  the  end 
of  a  thick  knotty  oak  cudgel.  There  was  not  much  in  the 
wallets. 

Others  wore  above  their  caps  a  great  broad-brimmed  felt 
hat,  with  a  band  of  woolen  chenile  of  various  colors  about 
the  crown,  and  these  were  clad  altogether  in  the  same  coarse 
linen  cloth  that  furnished  the  wallets  and  breeches  of  the  first 
group;  there  was  scarcely  a  trace  of  the  new  civilization  in 
their  dress.  Their  long  hair  straggled  over  the  collar  of  a 
round  jacket  which  reached  barely  to  the  hips,  a  garment 
peculiar  to  the  western  peasantry,  with  little  square  side-pockets 
in  it.  Beneath  this  open-fronted  jacket  was  a  waistcoat, 
fastened  with  big  buttons  and  made  of  the  same  cloth.  Some 
wore  sabots  on  the  march,  others  thriftily  carried  them  in 
their  hands.  Soiled  with  long  wear,  blackened  with  dust  and 
sweat,  this  costume  had  one  distinct  merit  of  its  own  ;  for  if 
it  was  less  original  than  the  one  first  described,  it  represented 
a  period  of  historical  transition,  that  ended  in  the  almost 
magnificent  apparel  of  a  few  men  who  shone  out  like  flowers 
in  the  midst  of  the  company. 

Their  red  or  yellow  waistcoats,  decorated  with  two  parallel 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  3 

rows  of  copper  buttons,  like  a  sort  of  oblong  cuirass,  and 
their  blue  linen  breeches,  stood  out  in  vivid  contrast  to  the 
white  clothing  and  skin  cloaks  of  their  comrades ;  they  looked 
like  poppies  and  cornflowers  in  a  field  of  wheat.  Some  few 
of  them  were  shod  with  the  wooden  sabots  that  the  Breton 
peasants  make  for  themselves,  but  most  of  them  wore  great 
iron-bound  shoes  and  coats  of  very  coarse  material,  shaped 
after  the  old  French  fashion,  to  which  our  peasants  still  cling 
religiously.  Their  shirt  collars  were  fastened  by  silver  studs 
with  designs  of  an  anchor  or  a  heart  upon  them  ;  and,  finally, 
their  wallets  seemed  better  stocked  than  those  of  their  com- 
rades. Some  of  them  even  included  a  flask,  filled  with 
brandy  no  doubt,  in  their  traveler's  outfit,  hanging  it  round 
their  necks  by  a  string. 

A  few  townspeople  among  these  semi-barbarous  folk  looked 
as  if  they  marked  the  extreme  limits  of  civilization  in  those 
regions.  Like  the  peasants,  they  exhibited  conspicuous  dif- 
ferences of  costume,  some  wearing  round  bonnets,  and  some 
flat  or  peaked  caps ;  some  had  high  boots  with  the  tops  turned 
down,  some  wore  shoes  surmounted  by  gaiters.  Ten  or  so 
of  them  had  put  themselves  into  the  jacket  known  to  the 
Republicans  as  a  carmagnole ;  others  again,  well-to-do  artisans 
doubtless,  were  dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  materials  of 
uniform  color ;  and  the  most  elegantly  arrayed  of  them  all  wore 
swallow-tailed  coats  or  riding-coats  of  blue  or  green  cloth  in 
more  or  less  threadbare  condition.  These  last,  moreover, 
wore  boots  of  various  patterns,  as  became  people  of  conse- 
quence, and  flourished  large  canes,  like  fellows  who  face  their 
luck  with  a  stout  heart.  A  head  carefully  powdered  here  and 
there,  or  decently  plaited  queues,  showed  the  desire  to  make 
the  most  of  ourselves  which  is  inspired  in  us  by  a  new  turn 
taken  in  our  fortunes  or  our  education. 

Any  one  seeing  these  men  brought  together  as  if  by  chance, 
and  astonished  at  finding  themselves  assembled,  might  have 
thought  that  a  conflagration  had  driven  the  population  of  a 


4  THE   CHOUANS. 

little  town  from  their  homes.  But  the  times  and  the  place 
made  this  body  of  men  interesting  for  very  different  reasons. 
A  spectator  initiated  into  the  secrets  of  the  civil  discords 
which  then  were  rending  France  would  have  readily  picked 
out  the  small  number  of  citizens  in  that  company  upon  whose 
loyalty  the  Republic  could  depend,  for  almost  every  one  who 
composed  it  had  taken  part  against  the  government  in  the  war 
of  four  years  previous.  One  last  distinguishing  characteristic 
left  no  doubt  whatever  as  to  the  divided  opinions  of  the  body 
of  men.  The  Republicans  alone  were  in  spirits  as  they 
marched.  As  for  the  rest  of  the  individuals  that  made  up 
the  band,  obviously  as  they  might  differ  in  their  dress,  one 
uniform  expression  was  visible  on  all  faces  and  in  the  attitude 
of  each — the  expression  which  misfortune  gives. 

The  faces  of  both  townspeople  and  peasants  bore  the  stamp 
of  deep  dejection  ;  there  was  something  sullen  about  the 
silence  they  kept.  All  of  them  were  bowed  apparently 
beneath  the  yoke  of  the  same  thought — a  terrible  thought,  no 
doubt,  but  carefully  hidden  away.  Every  face  was  inscruta- 
ble ;  the  unwonted  lagging  of  their  steps  alone  could  betray 
a  secret  understanding.  A  few  of  them  were  marked  out  by 
a  rosary  that  hung  about  their  necks,  although  they  ran  some 
risks  by  keeping  about  them  this  sign  of  a  faith  that  had  been 
suppressed  rather  than  uprooted ;  and  one  of  these  from  time 
to  time  would  shake  back  his  hair  and  defiantly  raise  his 
head.  Then  they  would  furtively  scan  the  woods,  the  foot- 
paths, and  the  crags  that  shut  in  the  road  on  either  side, 
much  as  a  dog  sniffs  the  wind  as  he  tries  to  scent  the  game ; 
but  as  they  only  heard  the  monotonous  sound  of  the  steps  of 
their  mute  comrades,  they  hung  their  heads  again  with  the 
forlorn  faces  of  convicts  on  their  way  to  the  galleys,  where 
they  are  now  to  live  and  die. 

The  advance  of  this  column  upon  Mayenne,  composed  as 
it  was  of  such  heterogeneous  elements,  and  representing  such 
widely  different  opinions,  was  explained  very  readily  by  the 


THE   AMBUSCADE.  5 

presence  of  another  body  of  troops  which  headed  the  detach- 
ment. About  one  hundred  and  fifty  soldiers  were  marching 
at  the  head  of  the  column  under  the  command  of  the  chief 
of  a  demi-brigade.  It  may  not  be  unprofitable  to  explain, 
for  those  who  have  not  witnessed  the  drama  of  the  Revolution, 
that  this  appellation  was  substitued  for  the  title  of  colonel, 
then  rejected  by  patriots  as  too  aristocratic.  The  soldiers 
belonged  to  a  demi-brigade  of  infantry  stationed  in  the  depot 
at  Mayenne.  In  those  disturbed  times  the  soldiers  of  the 
Republic  were  all  dubbed  Blues  by  the  population  of  the  west. 
The  blue  and  red  uniforms  of  the  early  days  of  the  Republic, 
which  are  too  well  remembered  even  yet  to  require  descrip- 
tion, had  given  rise  to  this  nickname.  So  the  detachment  of 
Blues  was  serving  as  an  escort  to  this  assemblage,  consisting 
of  men  who  were  nearly  all  ill  satisfied  at  being  thus  directed 
upon  Mayenne,  there  to  be  submitted  to  a  military  discipline 
which  must  shortly  clothe  them  all  alike,  and  drill  a  uniformity 
into  their  march  and  ways  of  thinking  which  was  at  present 
entirely  lacking  among  them. 

This  column  was  the  contingent  of  Fougeres,  obtained 
thence  with  great  difficulty;  and  representing  its  share  of  the 
levy  which  the  Directory  of  the  French  Republic  had  required 
by  a  law  passed  on  the  tenth  day  of  the  previous  Messidor. 
The  government  had  asked  for  a  subsidy  of  a  hundred  mil- 
lions, and  for  a  hundred  thousand  men,  so  as  to  send  reinforce- 
ments at  once  to  their  armies,  then  defeated  by  the  Austrians 
in  Italy  and  by  the  Prussians  in  Germany ;  while  Suwarroff, 
who  had  aroused  Russia's  hopes  of  making  a  conquest  of 
France,  menaced  them  from  Switzerland.  Then  it  was  that 
the  departments  of  the  west  known  as  la  Vendee,  Brittany, 
and  part  of  Lower  Normandy,  which  had  been  pacified  three 
years  previous  by  the  efforts  of  General  Hoche  after  four  years 
of  hard  fighting,  appeared  to  think  that  the  moment  had  come 
to  renew  the  struggle. 

Attacked  thus  in  so  many  directions,  the  Republic  seemed 


6  THE    CHOUANS. 

to  be  visited  with  a  return  of  her  early  vigor.  At  first  the 
defence  of  the  departments  thus  threatened  had  been  intrusted 
to  the  patriotic  residents  by  one  of  the  provisions  of  that 
same  law  of  Messidor.  The  government,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
had  neither  troops  nor  money  available  for  the  prosecution  of 
civil  warfare,  so  the  difficulty  was  evaded  by  a  bit  of  bombast 
on  the  part  of  the  legislature.  They  could  do  nothing  for  the 
revolted  districts,  so  they  reposed  complete  confidence  in 
them.  Perhaps  also  they  expected  that  this  measure,  by  set- 
ting the  citizens  at  odds  among  themselves,  would  extinguish 
the  rebellion  at  its  source.  "Free  companies  will  be  organized 
in  the  departments  of  the  west" — so  ran  the  proviso  which 
brought  about  such  dreadful  retaliation. 

This  impolitic  ordinance  drove  the  west  into  so  hostile  an 
attitude  that  the  Directory  had  no  hope  left  of  subduing  it  all 
at  once.  In  a  few  days,  therefore,  the  assemblies  were  asked 
for  particular  enactments  with  regard  to  the  slight  reinforce- 
ments due  by  virtue  of  the  proviso  that  had  authorized  the 
formation  of  the  free  companies.  So  a  new  law  had  been 
proclaimed  a  few  days  before  this  story  begins,  and  came  into 
effect  on  the  third  complementary  day  of  the  calendar  in  the 
year  VII.,  ordaining  that  these  scanty  levies  of  men  should  be 
organized  into  regiments.  The  regiments  were  to  bear  the 
names  of  the  departments  of  the  Sarthe,  Ourthe,  Mayenne, 
Ille-et-Vilaine,  Morbihan,  Loire-Inferieure,  and  Maine-et- 
Loire.  "These  regiments" — so  the  law  provided  —  "are 
specially  enrolled  to  oppose  the  Chouans,  and  can  never  be 
drafted  over  the  frontiers  on  any  pretext  whatsoever. ' '  These 
tedious  but  little  known  particulars  explained  at  once  the 
march  of  the  body  of  men  under  escort  of  the  Blues,  and  the 
weakness  of  the  position  in  which  the  Directory  found  them- 
selves. So,  perhaps,  it  is  not  irrelevant  to  add  that  these  beau- 
tiful and  patriotic  intentions  of  theirs  came  no  farther  on  the 
road  to  being  carried  out  than  their  insertion  in'the  "  Bulletin 
des  Lois."     The  decrees  of  the  Republic  had  no  longer  the 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  7 

forces  of  great  moral  ideas,  of  patriotism,  or  of  terror  behind 
them.  These  had  been  the  causes  of  their  former  practical 
efl&ciency ;  so  now  they  created  men  and  millions  on  paper 
which  never  found  their  way  into  the  army  or  the  treasury. 
The  machinery  of  the  revolutionary  government  was  directed 
by  incapable  hands,  and  circumstances  made  impression  on 
the  administration  of  the  law  instead  of  being  controlled 
by  it. 

The  departments  of  Mayenne  and  Ille-et-Vilaine  were  then 
in  command  of  an  experienced  officer,  who,  being  on  the 
spot,  determined  that  now  was  the  opportune  moment  for 
arranging  to  draw  his  contingents  out  of  Brittany,  and  more 
particularly  from  Fougeres,  which  was  one  of  the  most  formid- 
able centres  of  Chouan  operations,  hoping  in  this  way  to 
diminish  the  strength  of  these  districts  from  which  danger 
threatened.  This  devoted  veteran  availed  himself  of  the 
delusive  provisions  of  the  law  to  proclaim  that  he  would  at 
once  arm  and  equip  the  requisitionaires,  and  that  he  held  in 
hand  for  their  benefit  a  month's  pay,  which  the  government 
had  promised  to  these  irregular  forces.  Although  Brittany 
declined  every  kind  of  military  service  at  that  time,  this  plan 
of  op>erations  succeeded  at  the  first  start  on  the  faith  of  the 
promises  made,  and  so  readily  that  the  officer  began  to  grow 
uneasy. 

But  he  was  an  old  watch-dog,  and  not  easily  put  off  his 
guard,  so  that,  as  soon  as  he  saw  a  portion  of  his  contingent 
hurrying  to  the  bureau  of  the  district,  he  suspected  that  there 
was  some  hidden  motive  for  this  rapid  influx  of  men ;  and, 
perhaps,  he  had  guessed  rightly  when  he  believed  that  their 
object  was  to  procure  arms  for  themselves.  Upon  this  he 
took  measures  to  secure  his  retreat  upon  Alengon,  without 
waiting  for  the  later  arrivals.  He  wished  to  be  within  call  of 
the  better  affected  districts,  though  even  there  the  continued 
spread  of  the  insurrection  made  the  success  of  his  plans 
extremely  problematical.     In  obedience  to  his  instructions. 


8  THE   CHOUANS. 

he  had  kept  the  news  of  the  disasters  that  had  befallen  our 
armies  abroad  a  profound  secret,  as  well  as  the  disquieting 
tidings  that  came  from  la  Vendee ;  and  on  the  morning  when 
this  story  begins,  he  had  made  an  effort  to  reach  Mayenne  by 
a  forced  march.  Once  there,  he  thought  to  carry  out  the  law 
at  his  leisure,  and  to  fill  up  the  gaps  in  his  demi-brigade  with 
Breton  conscripts.  That  word  "conscript,"  which  became 
so  well  known  later  on,  had  replaced  for  the  first  time,  in  the 
wording  of  the  law,  the  term  "  requisitionarire,"  by  which  the 
Republican  recruits  had  at  first  been  described. 

Before  leaving  Fougeres,  the  commandant  had  made  his 
own  troops  surreptitiously  take  charge  of  all  the  cartridge 
boxes  and  rations  of  bread  belonging  to  the  entire  body  of 
men,  so  that  the  attention  of  the  conscripts  should  not  be 
called  to  the  length  of  the  journey.  He  made  up  his  mind  to 
call  no  halt  on  the  way  to  Ern^e ;  the  Chouans  were  doubtless 
abroad  in  the  district,  and  the  men  of  his  new  contingent, 
once  recovered  from  their  surprise,  might  enter  into  concerted 
action  with  them.  A  sullen  silence  prevailed  among  the  band 
of  requisitionaires,  who  had  been  taken  aback  by  the  old 
republican's  tactics;  and  this,  taken  with  their  lagging  gait  as 
they  climbed  the  mountain-side,  increased  to  the  highest 
pitch  the  anxiety  of  the  commandant  of  the  demi-brigade, 
Hulot  by  name.  He  was  keenly  interested  in  noting  those 
marked  characteristics  which  have  been  previously  described, 
and  was  walking  in  silence  among  five  subaltern  officers  who 
all  respected  their  chiefs  preoccupied  mood. 

As  Hulot  reached  the  summit  of  the  Pelerine,  however,  he 
instinctively  turned  his  head  to  examine  the  restless  faces  of 
the  requisitionaires,  and  forthwith  broke  the  silence.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  Bretons  had  been  moving  more  and  more 
slowly,  and  already  they  had  put  an  interval  of  some  two 
hundred  paces  between  themselves  and  their  escort.  Hulot 
made  a  sort  of  grimace  peculiar  to  him  at  this. 

"What  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  the  ragamuffins?"  he 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  9 

cried  in  the  deep  tones  of  his  voice.  "  Instead  of  stepping 
out,  these  conscripts  of  ours  have  their  legs  glued  together,  I 
think." 

At  these  words  the  officers  who  were  with  him  turned  to 
look  behind  them,  acting  on  an  impulse  like  that  which  makes 
us  wake  with  a  start  at  some  sudden  noise.  The  sergeants 
and  corporals  followed  their  example,  and  the  whole  company 
came  to  a  standstill,  without  waiting  for  the  wished-for  word 
of  command  to  "halt!  "  If,  in  the  first  place,  the  officers 
gave  a  glance  over  the  detachment  that  was  slowly  crawling 
up  the  Pelerine  like  an  elongated  tortoise,  they  were  suffi- 
ciently struck  with  the  view  that  spread  itself  out  before  their 
eyes  to  leave  Hulot's  remark  unanswered,  its  importance  not 
being  at  all  appreciated  by  them.  They  were  young  men 
who,  like  many  others,  had  been  torn  away  from  learned 
studies  to  defend  their  country,  and  the  art  of  war  had  not 
yet  extinguished  the  love  of  other  arts  in  them. 

Although  they  were  coming  from  Fougeres,  whence  the 
same  picture  that  now  lay  before  their  eyes  could  be  seen 
equally  well,  they  could  not  help  admiring  it  again  for  the 
last  time,  with  all  the  differences  that  the  change  in  the  point 
of  view  had  made  in  it.  They  were  not  unlike  those  dilettanti 
who  take  more  pleasure  in  a  piece  of  music  for  a  closer  knowl- 
edge of  its  details. 

From  the  heights  of  the  Pelerine  the  wide  valley  of  the 
Couesnon  extends  before  the  traveler's  eyes.  The  town  of 
Fougeres  occupies  one  of  the  highest  points  on  the  horizon. 
From  the  high  rock  on  which  it  is  built  the  castle  commands 
three  or  four  important  ways  of  communication,  a  position 
which  formerly  made  it  one  of  the  keys  of  Brittany.  From 
their  point  of  view  the  officers  saw  the  whole  length  and 
breadth  of  this  basin,  which  is  as  remarkable  for  its  marvel- 
ously  fertile  soil  as  for  the  varied  scenery  it  presents.  The 
mountains  of  schist  rise  above  it  on  all  sides,  as  in  an  amphi- 
theatre, the  warm  coloring  of  their  sides  is  disguised  by  the 


10  THE   CHOUANS. 

oak  forests  upon  them,  and  little  cool  valleys  lie  concealed  in 
their  slopes. 

The  crags  describe  a  wall  about  an  apparently  circular  en- 
closure, and  in  the  depths  below  them  lies  a  vast  stretch  of 
delicate  meadow-land  laid  out  like  an  English  garden.  A 
multitude  of  irregularly-shaped  quick-set  hedges  surrounds  the 
numberless  domains,  and  trees  are  planted  everywhere,  so 
that  this  green  carpet  presents  an  appearance  not  often  seen 
in  French  landscapes.  Unsuspected  beauty  lies  hidden  in 
abundance  among  its  manifold  shadows  and  lights,  and  effects 
strong  and  broad  enough  to  strike  the  most  indifferent  nature. 

At  this  particular  moment  the  stretch  of  country  was  bright- 
ened by  a  fleeting  glory  such  as  nature  loves  at  times  to  use  to 
heighten  the  grandeur  of  her  imperishable  creations.  All  the 
while  that  the  detachment  was  crossing  the  valley,  the  rising 
sun  had  slowly  scattered  the  thin  white  mists  that  hover  above 
the  fields  in  September  mornings ;  and  now  when  the  soldiers 
looked  back,  an  invisible  hand  seemed  to  raise  the  last  of  the 
veils  that  had  covered  the  landscape.  The  fine  delicate  clouds 
were  like  a  transparent  gauze  enshrouding  precious  jewels  that 
lie,  exciting  our  curiosity,  behind  it.  All  along  the  wide 
stretch  of  horizon  that  the  officers  could  see,  there  was  not 
the  lightest  cloud  in  heaven  to  persuade  them  by  its  silver 
brightness  that  that  great  blue  vault  above  them  was  really  the 
sky.  It  was  more  like  a  silken  canopy  held  up  by  the  uneven 
mountain-peaks,  and  borne  aloft  to  protect  this  wonderful 
combination  of  field  and  plain  and  wood  and  river. 

The  officers  did  not  weary  of  scanning  that  extent  of  plain, 
which  gave  rise  to  so  much  beauty  of  field  and  wood.  Some 
of  them  looked  hither  and  thither  long  before  their  gaze  was 
fixed  at  last  on  the  wonderful  diversity  of  color  in  the  woods, 
where  the  sober  hues  of  groups  of  trees  that  were  turning  sere 
brought  out  more  fully  the  richer  hues  of  the  bronze  foliage, 
a  contrast  heightened  still  further  by  irregular  indentations  of 
emerald  green  meadow.     Others  dwelt  on  the  warm  coloring 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  11 

of  the  fields,  with  their  cone-shaped  stocks  of  buckwheat  piled 
up  like  the  sheaves  of  arms  that  soldiers  make  in  a  bivouac, 
and  the  opposing  hues  of  the  fields  of  rye  that  were  inter- 
spersed among  them,  all  golden  with  stubble  after  the  harvest. 
There  was  a  dark-colored  slate  roof  here  and  there,  with  a 
white  smoke  ascending  from  it ;  and  here  again  a  bright 
silvery  streak  of  some  winding  bit  of  the  Couesnon  would 
attract  the  gaze — a  snare  for  the  eyes  which  follow  it,  and  so 
lead  the  soul  all  unconsciously  into  vague  musings.  The 
fresh  fragrance  of  the  light  autumn  wind  and  the  strong  forest 
scents  came  up  like  an  intoxicating  incense  for  those  who 
stood  admiring  this  beautiful  country,  and  saw  with  delight  its 
strange  wild-flowers,  and  the  vigorous  green  growth  that  makes 
it  a  rival  of  the  neighboring  land  of  Britain,  the  country 
which  bears  the  same  name  in  common  with  it.  A  few  cattle 
gave  life  to  the  scene,  that  was  already  full  of  dramatic  interest. 
The  birds  were  singing,  giving  to  the  breezes  in  the  valley  a 
soft  low  vibration  of  music. 

If  the  attentive  imagination  will  discern  to  the  utmost  the 
splendid  effects  of  the  lights  and  shadows,  the  misty  outlines 
of  the  hills,  the  unexpected  distant  views  aff'orded  in  places 
where  there  was  a  gap  among  the  trees,  a  broad  stretch  of 
water,  or  the  coy,  swiftly-winding  courses  of  streams;  if 
memory  fills  in,  so  to  speak,  these  outlines,  brief  as  the 
moment  that  they  represent ;  then  those  for  whom  these 
possess  a  certain  worth  will  form  a  dim  idea  of  the  enchanting 
scene  that  came  as  a  surprise  to  the  yet  impressionable  minds 
of  the  young  officers. 

They  thought  that  these  poor  creatures  were  leaving  their 
own  country  and  their  beloved  customs  in  sadness,  in  order  to 
die,  perhaps,  on  foreign  soil,  and  instinctively  forgave  them 
for  a  reluctance  which  they  well  understood.  Then  with  a 
kindness  of  heart  natural  to  soldiers,  they  disguised  their  com- 
plaisance under  the  appearance  of  a  wish  to  study  the  lovely 
landscape  from  a  military  point  of  view.     But  Hulot,  for  the 


12  THE    CHOUANS. 

commandant  must  be  called  by  his  name,  to  avoid  his  scarcely 
euphonious  title  of  chief  demi-brigade,  was  not  the  kind  of 
soldier  who  is  smitten  with  the  charms  of  scenery  at  a  time 
when  danger  is  at  hand,  even  if  the  Garden  of  Eden  were  to 
lie  before  him.  He  shook  his  head  disapprovingly,  and  his 
thick  black  eyebrows  were  contracted,  giving  a  very  stern 
expression  to  his  face. 

**  Why  the  devil  don't  they  come  along?  "  he  asked  for  the 
second  time,  in  a  voice  that  had  grown  hoarse  with  many  a 
hard  campaign.  "Is  there  some  Holy  Virgin  or  other  in  the 
village  whose  hand  they  want  to  squeeze?" 

"  You  want  to  know  why  ?  "  a  voice  replied. 

The  sounds  seemed  to  come  from  one  of  the  horns  with 
which  herdsmen  in  these  dales  call  their  cattle  together.  The 
commandant  wheeled  round  at  the  words,  as  sharply  as  if  he 
had  felt  a  prick  from  a  sword  point,  and  saw,  two  paces  from 
him,  a  queerer  looking  being  than  any  of  those  now  on  the 
way  to  Mayenne  to  serve  the  Republic. 

The  stranger  was  a  broad-shouldered,  thick-set  man  ;  his 
head  looked  almost  as  large  as  that  of  a  bull,  and  was  not  un- 
like it  in  other  respects;  his  wide,  thick  nostrils  made  his 
nose  seem  shorter  than  it  really  was ;  his  thick  lips  turned  up 
to  display  a  snowy  set  of  teeth,  long  lashes  bristled  round 
the  large  black  eyes,  and  he  had  a  pair  of  drooping  ears,  and 
red  hair  that  seemed  to  belong  rather  to  some  root-eating  race 
than  to  the  noble  Caucasian  stock.  There  was  an  entire 
absence  of  any  other  characteristics  of  civilized  man  about 
the  bare  head,  which  made  it  more  remarkable  still.  His 
face  might  have  been  turned  to  bronze  by  the  sun  ;  its  angular 
outlines  suggested  a  remote  resemblance  to  the  granite  rocks 
that  formed  the  underlying  soil  of  the  district,  and  his  face 
was  the  only  discernible  portion  of  the  body  of  this  strange 
being.  From  his  neck  downwards  he  was  enveloped  in  a 
kind  of  smock-frock,  or  blouse  of  a  coarse  kind  of  material, 
much  rougher  than    that  of  which   the  poorest  conscript's 


THE   AMBUSCADE.  13 

breeches  were  made.  This  smock-frock  or  sarrau,  in  which 
an  antiquary  would  have  recognized  the  saye  {saga)  or  sayon 
of  the  Gauls,  reached  only  half-way  down  his  person,  where 
his  nether  integuments  of  goat's  skin  were  fastened  to  it  by 
wooden  skewers,  so  roughly  cut  that  the  bark  was  not  removed 
from  all  of  them.  It  was  scarcely  possible  to  distinguish  a 
human  form  in  the  "goat-skins"  (so  they  call  them  in  the 
district),  which  completely  covered  his  legs  and  thighs.  His 
feet  were  hidden  by  huge  sabots.  His  long,  sleek  hair,  very 
near  the  color  of  the  skins  he  wore,  was  parted  in  the  middle 
and  fell  on  either  side  of  his  face,  much  as  you  see  it  arranged 
in  some  mediaeval  statues  still  existing  in  cathedrals.  Instead 
of  the  knotty  cudgel  with  which  the  conscripts  slung  their 
wallets  from  their  shoulders,  he  was  hugging  a  large  whip  to 
his  breast,  like  a  gun,  a  whip  with  a  cleverly  plaited  thong 
that  seemed  quite  twice  the  usual  length. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  this  quaint  being  seemed  readily 
explicable.  At  the  first  sight  of  him  several  officers  took  him 
for  a  conscript  or  requisitionaire  (both  of  these  terms  were 
still  in  use)  who  had  seen  the  halt  made  by  the  column  and 
had  fallen  in  with  it.  Nevertheless  the  man's  arrival  amazed 
the  commandant  strangely ;  for  though  there  was  not  the 
slightest  trace  of  alarm  about  him,  he  grew  thoughtful.  After 
a  survey  of  the  newcomer,  he  repeated  his  question  mechan- 
ically, as  if  he  were  preoccupied  with  sinister  thoughts. 

"Yes,  why  don't  they  come  up?  Do  you  happen  to 
know?" 

His  surly  interlocutor  answered  with  an  accent  which  showed 
that  he  found  it  sufficiently  difficult  to  express  himself  in 
French.  "  Because,"  he  said,  stretching  out  his  big,  rough 
hand  towards  Ernee,  "there  lies  Maine,  and  here  Brittany 
ends,"  and  he  struck  the  ground  heavily  as  he  threw  down 
the  handle  of  his  whip  at  the  commandant's  feet. 

If  a  barbarous  tomtom  were  suddenly  struck  in  the  middle 
of  a  piece  of  music,  the  impression  produced  would  be  very 


14  THE   CHOUANS. 

like  the  effect  made  upon  the  spectators  of  this  scene  by  the 
stranger's  concise  speech.  That  word  "  speech  "  will  scarcely 
give  an  idea  of  the  hatred,  the  thirst  for  vengeance  expressed 
in  the  scornful  gesture  and  the  brief  word  or  two,  or  of  the 
fierce  and  stern  energy  in  the  speaker's  face.  The  extreme 
roughness  of  the  man,  who  looked  as  though  he  had  been 
hewn  into  shape  by  an  axe,  his  gnarled  skin,  the  lines  of 
ignorant  stupidity  graven  in  every  feature,  gave  him  the  look 
of  a  savage  divinity.  As  he  stood  there  in  his  prophetic  atti- 
tude he  looked  like  an  embodied  spirit  of  that  Brittany  which 
had  just  awakened  from  a  three  years'  sleep,  to  begin  a 
struggle  once  more  in  which  victory  could  never  show  her 
face  save  through  a  double  veil  of  crape. 

"There's  a  pretty  image,"  said  Hulot  to  himself.  "To 
my  mind,  he  looks  like  an  envoy  from  folk  who  are  about  to 
open  negotiations  with  powder  and  ball !  " 

When  he  had  muttered  these  words  between  his  teeth,  the 
commandant's  eyes  traveled  from  the  man  before  him  over 
the  landscape,  from  the  landscape  to  the  detachment,  from 
the  detachment  over  the  steep  slopes  on  either  side  of  the  way 
with  the  tall  gorse-bushes  of  Brittany  shading  their  summits, 
and  thence  he  suddenly  turned  upon  the  stranger,  whom  he 
submitted  to  a  mute  examination,  ending  at  last  by  asking 
him  sharply — 

"  Where  do  you  come  from?" 

His  keen,  piercing  eyes  were  trying  to  read  the  secret 
thoughts  beneath  the  inscrutable  face  before  him,  a  face  which 
had  meantime  resumed  the  usual  expression  of  vacuous  stolid- 
ity that  envelopes  a  peasant's  face  in  repose. 

"From  the  country  of  the^arj,"  the  man  answered,  with- 
out a  trace  of  apprehension. 

"  Your  name?" 

"  March e-a-Ter re." 

"  What  makes  you  call  yourself  by  your  Chouan  nickname? 
It  is  against  the  law." 


THE   AMBUSCADE.  15 

Marche-a-Terre,  as  he  called  himself,  gaped  at  the  command- 
ant with  such  a  thoroughly  genuine  appearance  of  imbecility 
that  the  soldier  thought  his  remark  was  not  understood. 

"  Are  you  a  part  of  the  Fougeres  requisition  ?  " 

To  this  question  Marche-a-Terre  replied  with  an  "  I  don't 
know,"  in  that  peculiarly  hopeless  fashion  which  puts  a  stop 
to  all  conversation.  He  sat  himself  down  quietly  at  the  road- 
side, drew  from  his  blouse  some  slices  of  a  thin  dark  bannock 
made  of  buckwheat  meal,  the  staple  food  of  Brittany,  a  mel- 
ancholy diet  in  which  only  a  Breton  can  take  delight,  and 
began  to  eat  with  wooden  imperturbability. 

He  looked  so  absolutely  devoid  of  every  kind  of  intelligence, 
that  the  officers  compared  him  as  he  sat  first  to  one  of  the 
cattle  browsing  in  the  pasture-land  below,  next  to  an  American 
Indian,  and  lastly  to  some  aboriginal  savage  at  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope.  Even  the  commandant  himself  was  deceived 
by  his  attitude,  and  heeded  his  fears  no  longer,  till  by  way 
of  making  assurance  surer  still  he  gave  a  last  glance  at  the 
suspected  herald  of  an  approaching  massacre,  and  noticed  that 
his  hair,  his  blouse,  and  his  goat-skin  breeches  were  covered 
with  thorns,  bits  of  wood,  scraps  of  bramble  and  leaves,  as  if 
the  Chouan  had  come  through  the  thickets  for  a  long  distance. 
He  looked  significantly  at  his  adjutant  Gerard,  who  was  stand- 
ing beside  him,  gripped  his  hand,  and  said  in  a  low  voice — 

"  We  went  out  to  look  for  wool,  and  we  shall  go  back  again 
shorn." 

The  astonished  officers  eyed  one  another  in  silence. 

Here  we  must  digress  a  little,  so  that  those  stay-at-home 
people  who  are  accustomed  to  believe  nothing  because  they 
never  see  anything  for  themselves,  may  be  induced  to  sym- 
pathize with  the  fears  of  the  commandant  Hulot,  for  these 
people  would  be  capable  of  denying  the  existence  of  a  Marche- 
i-Terre  and  of  the  western  peasants  who  behaved  with  such 
heroism  in  those  times. 

The  word  gars,  pronounced  gb^,  is  a  relic  of  the  Celtic 


16  THE   CHOUANS. 

tongue.  It  passed  into  the  French  from  the  Bas-Breton,  and 
of  all  words  in  the  language  that  we  speak  to-day  in  France 
this  one  preserves  the  oldest  traditions.  The  gais  was  the 
principal  weapon  of  the  Gaels  or  Gauls ;  gaisde  meant  armed, 
gais  meant  valor,  and  gas  force.  The  close  similarity  proves 
that  the  word  gars  is  connected  with  these  expressions  in  the 
language  of  our  ancestors.  The  word  corresponds  to  the 
Latin  word  vir,  a  man ;  the  significance  at  the  root  of  virtus^ 
strength  or  courage.  The  apology  for  this  dissertation  lies  in 
the  fact  that  the  word  is  a  part  of  our  national  history,  and 
this  possibly  may  reinstate  such  words  as  gars,  garcon,  gar- 
(^onette,  garce,  garcette,  in  the  good  graces  of  some  persons 
who  banish  them  from  all  conversation  as  uncouth  expressions; 
they  come  of  a  warlike  origin  for  all  that,  and  will  turn  up 
now  and  again  in  the  course  of  this  narrative.  '^C'estune 
fatneuse  garce /^'  was  the  little  appreciated  eulogium  which 
Mme.  de  Stael  received  in  a  little  canton  of  Vendomois,  where 
she  spent  some  of  her  days  in  exile. 

The  Gaul  has  left  deeper  traces  of  his  character  in  Brittany 
than  in  all  the  rest  of  France.  Those  parts  of  the  province, 
where  the  wild  life  and  superstitious  spirit  of  our  rough  an- 
cestors are  glaringly  evident,  so  to  speak,  even  in  our  day, 
were  called  the  Fays  des  Gars.  When  the  population  of  a 
district  consists  of  a  number  of  uncivilized  people  like  those 
who  have  just  been  collected  together  in  the  opening  scene, 
the  folk  round  about  in  the  country-side  call  them  "  The  gars 
of  such  and  such  a  parish,"  which  classical  epithet  is  a  sort 
of  reward  for  the  loyalty  of  their  efforts  to  preserve  the  tradi- 
tions of  their  Celtic  language  and  customs.  In  their  daily 
lives,  moreover,  there  are  deep  traces  of  the  superstitious 
beliefs  and  practices  of  ancient  times.  Feudal  customs  are 
even  yet  respected,  antiquaries  find  Druidical  monuments  there, 
and  the  spirit  of  modern  civilization  hesitates  to  traverse  those 
vast  tracts  of  primeval  forest.  There  is  an  incredible  ferocity 
and  a  dogged  obstinacy  about  the  national  character,  but  an 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  17 

oath  is  religiously  kept.  Our  laws,  customs,  and  dress,  our 
modern  coinage  and  our  language  are  utterly  unknown  among 
them ;  and  if,  on  the  one  hand,  their  combination  of  patri- 
archal simplicity  and  heroic  virtues  makes  them  less  apt  at 
projecting  complicated  schemes  than  tlie  Mohicans  or  North 
American  redskins,  on  the  other  hand  they  are  as  magnan- 
imous, as  hardy,  and  as  shrewd. 

The  fact  that  Brittany  is  situated  in  Europe  makes  it  very 
much  more  interesting  than  Canada.  It  is  surrounded  by 
enlightenment,  but  the  beneficent  warmth  never  penetrates 
it ;  the  country  is  like  some  frozen  piece  of  coal  that  lies,  a 
dim  black  mass,  in  the  heart  of  a  blazing  fire.  The  attempts 
made  by  some  shrewd  heads  to  make  this  large  portion  of 
France,  with  its  undeveloped  resources,  amenable,  to  give  it 
social  life  and  prosperity,  had  failed  ;  even  the  efforts  of  the 
government  had  come  to  nothing  among  a  stationary  people, 
wedded  to  the  usages  prescribed  by  immemorial  tradition. 
The  natural  features  of  the  country  offer  a  sufficient  expla- 
nation of  this  misfortune ;  the  land  is  furrowed  with  ravines 
and  torrents,  with  lakes  and  marshes ;  it  bristles  with  hedges, 
as  they  call  a  sort  of  earthwork  or  fortification  that  makes  a 
citadel  of  every  field.  There  are  neither  roads  nor  canals, 
and  the  temper  of  an  ignorant  population  must  be  taken  into 
account,  a  population  given  over  to  prejudices  that  cause 
dangers  to  which  this  story  will  bear  witness,  a  population 
that  will  none  of  our  modern  methods  of  agriculture. 

The  picturesque  nature  of  the  country  and  the  superstition 
of  its  inhabitants  both  preclude  the  aggregation  of  individuals 
and  the  consequent  benefits  that  might  be  gained  from  a  com- 
parison and  exchange  of  ideas.  There  are  no  villages.  Frail 
structures,  cabins,  as  they  call  them,  are  scattered  abroad  over 
the  country-side,  and  every  family  there  lives  as  if  in  a 
desert.  At  the  only  times  when  the  people  are  brought 
together,  the  meeting  is  a  brief  one,  and  takes  place  on 
Sundays,  or  on  one  of  the  religious  festivals  observed  by  the 
2 


18  •  THE   CHOUANS. 

parish.  These  unsociable  gatherings  only  last  for  a  few  hours, 
and  are  always  presided  over  by  the  "  rector,"  the  only 
master  that  their  dull  minds  recognize.  The  peasant  hears 
the  awe-inspiring  voice  of  the  priest,  and  returns  to  his 
unwholesome  dwelling  for  the  week ;  he  goes  out  to  work  and 
goes  home  again  to  sleep.  If  any  one  goes  near  him,  it  is 
that  same  rector,  who  is  the  soul  of  the  country-side.  It  was 
at  the  bidding  of  the  priest,  too,  that  so  many  thousands  of 
men  flung  themselves  upon  the  Republic,  when  these  very 
Breton  districts  furnished  large  bodies  of  men  for  the  first 
Chouan  organization,  five  years  before  this  story  begins. 

In  those  days  several  brothers,  daring  smugglers,  named 
Cottereau,  who  gave  their  name  to  the  war,  had  plied  their 
dangerous  trade  between  Laval  and  Fougeres.  But  there  was 
nothing  noble  about  these  rural  outbreaks ;  for  if  La  Vendee 
had  elevated  brigandage  into  warfare,  Brittany  had  degraded 
war  into  brigandage.  The  proscription  of  the  princes  and 
the  overthrow  of  religion  were,  to  the  Chouans,  simply  pre- 
texts for  plundering  excursions,  and  all  the  events  of  that 
internecine  warfare  were  colored  by  something  of  the  savage 
ferocity  peculiar  to  the  disposition  of  the  race.  When  the 
real  supporters  of  the  Monarchy  came  in  search  of  recruits 
among  this  ignorant  and  combative  population,  they  tried, 
and  tried  in  vain,  when  they  ranged  the  Chouans  under  the 
white  flag,  to  infuse  some  larger  ideas  into  the  enterprises 
which  had  made  Chouannerie  detested.  The  Chouans 
remained  a  memorable  instance  of  the  grave  dangers 
incurred  by  stirring  up  the  masses  of  a  half-civilized  country. 

The  scene  that  the  first  Breton  valley  offers  to  the  traveler's 
eyes,  the  picture  that  has  been  given  of  the  men  who  com- 
posed the  detachment  of  requisitionaires,  the  description  of 
the  gars  who  appeared  on  the  summit  of  the  Pelerine,  would 
give  altogether  an  accurate  idea  of  the  province  and  of 
those  who  dwelt  in  it.     From  those  details  an  expert  imagina- 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  19 

tion  could  construct  the  theatre  and  the  machinery  of  war  ; 
therein  lay  all  the  elements. 

Concealed  enemies  were  lurking  behind  those  hedges,  .with 
the  autumn  flowers  in  them,  in  every  lovely  valley.  Every 
field  was  a  fortress,  every  tree  was  a  snare  in  disguise,  not  an 
old  hollow  willow  trunk  but  concealed  a  stratagem.  The 
field  of  battle  lay  in  all  directions.  At  every  corner  of  the 
road  muskets  were  lying  in  wait  for  the  Blues ;  young  girls, 
smiling  as  they  went,  would  think  it  no  treachery  to  lure 
them  under  the  fire  of  cannon,  and  go  afterwards  with  their 
fathers  and  brothers  on  pilgrimage  to  ask  for  absolution, 
and  to  pray  to  be  inspired  with  fresh  deceits,  at  the  shrine 
of  some  carved  and  gilded  virgin.  The  religion,  or  rather 
the  fetichism,  of  these  ignorant  folk  had  deprived  murder 
of  all  sense  of  remorse. 

So  it  befell  that  when  the  struggle  had  once  begun,  there 
was  danger  everywhere  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 
the  country  ;  in  sound  as  in  silence,  in  pardon  or  in  terror, 
and  by  the  fireside  just  as  much  as  on  the  high  road.  They 
were  conscientiously  treacherous,  these  savages  who  were 
serving  God  and  the  King  by  making  war  like  Mohicans. 
Yet  if  the  historian  is  to  give  a  true  and  faithful  picture  of 
the  struggle,  in  every  particular,  he  ought  to  add  that  as  soon 
as  Hoche's  treaty  was  signed  the  whole  country  became  blithe 
and  friendly  at  once.  Families  who  had  been  ready  to  fly 
at  each  other's  throats  the  day  before,  supped  without  danger 
under  the  same  roof. 

The  moment  that  Hulot  became  aware  of  the  treacherous 
secrets  revealed  by  Marche-a-Terre's  goat-skin  apparel,  his 
conviction  was  confirmed ;  the  auspicious  peace  inaugurated 
through  Hoche's  ability  was  now  at  an  end;  its  longer  dura- 
tion indeed  seemed  to  him  impossible.  It  was  in  this  manner 
that  war  broke  out  again,  after  three  years  of  inaction,  and  in 
a  more  formidable  guise  than  hitherto.  Perhaps  the  temper 
of  the  Revolution,  which  had  grown  milder  since  the  Ninth 


20  THE   CHOUANS. 

of  Thermidor,  was  about  to  revert  to  the  ferocity  which  had 
made  it  hateful  to  every  rightly  constituted  mind.  English 
gold,  as  usual,  contributed  to  bring  about  discord  in  France. 
If  the  Republic  were  abandoned  by  the  young  Bonaparte, 
who  seemed  to  be  its  tutelary  genius,  it  seemed  as  if  it  would 
be  utterly  unable  to  make  a  stand  against  so  many  foes,  and 
the  last  to  appear  were  the  bitterest  among  them.  Civil  war, 
heralded  by  numberless  risings  of  little  importance,  assumed 
a  gravity  before  unknown,  from  the  moment  that  the  Chouans 
conceived  the  idea  of  attacking  so  strong  an  escort.  This,  in 
a  concise  form,  was  the  substance  of  Hulot's  reflections,  when 
he  believed  that  in  Marche-a-Terre's  sudden  appearance  he  saw 
the  signs  of  a  skilfully  prepared  trap.  And  he  alone,  for  no 
one  else  was  in  the  secret  of  the  danger. 

The  pause  which  ensued  after  the  commandant's  prophetic 
remark  to  Gerard,  and  which  put  an  end  to  the  previous 
scene,  sufficed  for  Hulot  to  regain  his  composure.  The  vet- 
eran's brain  had  almost  reeled ;  he  could  not  shake  off  the 
gloom  which  covered  his  brow  as  he  thought  that  he  was  even 
then  surrounded  by  the  horrors  of  a  warfare  marked  by  atroc- 
ities from  which,  perhaps,  even  cannibals  would  shrink.  His 
captain.  Merle,  and  the  adjutant  Gerard,  both  of  them  friends 
of  his,  tried  to  understand  the  terror,  quite  new  in  their 
experience,  of  which  their  leader's  face  gave  evidence  ;  then 
they  looked  at  Marche-a-Terre,  who  was  eating  his  bannock, 
and  could  not  discern  the  remotest  connection  between  the 
brave  commandant's  uneasiness  and  this  sort  of  animal  at  the 
roadside. 

Hulot's  face  soon  cleared,  however. 

While  he  deplored  the  calamities  that  had  befallen  the 
Republic,  he  was  glad  at  heart  that  he  was  to  fight  for  her; 
he  vowed  gaily  to  himself  that  he  would  not  be  gulled  by  the 
Chouans,  and  that  he  would  read  this  dark  intriguing  nature 
that  they  had  done  him  the  honor  to  send  against  him. 
Before  making  any  decision  he  began  to  study  the  place  in 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  21 

which  his  enemies  wished  to  take  him  at  a  disadvantage.  His 
thick  black  eyebrows  contracted  into  a  heavy  frown  as  he  saw 
from  the  middle  of  the  road  where  he  stood  that  their  way 
lay  through  a  sort  of  ravine,  of  no  great  depth  it  is  true,  but 
with  woods  on  either  side,  and  many  footpaths  through  them. 
He  spoke  to  his  two  comrades  in  a  low  and  very  uncertain 
voice — 

**  We  are  in  a  nice  hornet's  nest !  " 

"What  is  it  that  you  are  afraid  of?" 

"Afraid?"  answered  the  commandant.  "Yes,  afraid. 
I  have  always  been  afraid  of  being  shot  like  a  dog  at  some 
bend  in  a  wood,  without  so  much  as  a  '  Who  goes  there  ?  '  " 

"Bah,"  chuckled  Merle,  "even  a  'Who  goes  there?'  is 
also  a  deception." 

"We  really  are  in  danger  then?"  asked  Gerard,  as  much 
amazed  now  at  Hulot's  coolness  as  he  had  been  before  at  his 
brief  spasm  of  fear. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  the  commandant ;  "we  are  in  the  wolfs 
den  ;  it  is  as  dark  as  in  an  oven  in  there,  and  we  must  strike 
a  fight.  It  is  lucky,"  he  went  on,  "  that  we  occupy  the 
highest  ground  on  this  side."  He  added  a  vigorous  epithet 
by  way  of  ornament,  and  went  on,  "  Perhaps  I  shall  end  by 
understanding  it  clearly  enough  down  there." 

The  commandant  beckoned  the  two  officers,  and  they  made 
a  ring  round  Marche-a-Terre ;  the  gars  pretended  to  think 
that  he  was  in  the  way,  and  got  up  promptly. 

"Stop  where  you  are,  vagabond  1  "  cried  Hulot,  giving 
him  a  push  that  he  went  down  again  on  to  the  slope  where  he 
had  been  sitting.  From  that  moment  the  chief  of  demi- 
brigade  never  took  his  eyes  off  the  stolid  and  impassive 
Breton. 

"It  is  time  to  let  you  know,  my  friends,"  said  Hulot, 
addressing  the  two  officers  in  low  tones,  "  that  they  have  shut 
up  shop  down  there.  A  mighty  rummaging  has  been  set  up 
in  the  assemblies,  and  the  directory  in  consequence  has  sent  a 


22  THE   CHOUANS. 

iorff  strokes  of  the  broom  our  way.  Those  pentarchs  of 
directors — call  them  pantaloons,  it  is  better  French — have 
just  lost  a  good  sword;  Bernadotte  has  had  enough  of  it." 

**  Who  succeeds  him  ?  "  asked  Gerard  eagerly. 

"  Milet-Mureau,  an  old  pedant.  They  have  pitched  on 
an  awkward  time  for  setting  numskulls  to  pilot  us.  There 
are  English  rockets  going  up  on  the  coasts:  these  cock- 
chafers of  Vendeans  and  Chouans  about :  and  the  fellows 
at  the  back  of  those  marionettes  yonder  have  cleverly  selected 
the  moment  when  we  are  about  to  succumb." 

*'What?"  asked  Merle. 

"Our  armies  are  beaten  back  at  every  point,"  said  Hulot, 
lowering  his  voice  more  and  more.  "  The  Chouans  have 
intercepted  our  couriers  twice  already  ;  my  own  despatches 
and  the  last  decrees  issued  only  reached  me  by  a  special 
express  that  Bernadotte  sent  just  as  he  resigned  his  place 
in  the  ministry.  Personal  friends,  fortunately,  have  written 
to  me  about  this  crisis.  Fouch6  has  found  out  that  traitors 
in  Paris  have  advised  the  tyrant  Louis  XVIII.  to  send  a  leader 
to  his  dupes  in  the  interior.  Some  think  that  Barras  is  a 
traitor  to  the  Republic.  In  short,  Pitt  and  the  princes  have 
sent  a  ci-devant  owex  here  ;  a  strong  man  and  a  capable  leader, 
he  intends,  by  combining  the  efforts  of  the  Vendeans  and 
Chouans,  to  teach  the  Republic  to  respect  them.  The  fellow 
has  landed  in  Morbihan;  I  knew  it  before  anyone  else,  and 
I  advised  those  rascals  in  Paris  of  his  arrival.  '  The  Gars,' 
he  has  chosen  to  call  himself.  All  those  animals,"  and  he 
pointed  to  Marche-a-Terre,  "  fit  themselves  up  with  names 
that  would  give  any  honest  patriot  the  colic  if  you  called  him 
by  them.  But  our  man  is  here  in  this  country,  and  the 
appearance  of  that  Chouan  yonder,"  again  he  pointed  to 
Marche-a-Terre,  "  tells  me  that  he  is  close  upon  us.  But 
there  is  no  need  to  teach  grimaces  to  an  old  monkey,  and  you 
will  help  me  now  to  cage  my  linnets,  and  in  less  than  no 
time.     A  pretty  idiot  I  should  be  to  let  myself  be  snared  like 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  23 

a  bird,  and  that  by  a  ci-devant  from  London,  come  over  here 
pretending  that  he  wants  to  dust  our  jackets." 

Thus  informed  in  confidence  of  the  critical  state  of  affairs, 
the  two  officers,  who  knew  that  their  commandant  never 
alarmed  himself  without  good  reason,  assumed  that  gravity  of 
expression  common  to  soldiers  in  pressing  danger,  who  have 
been  thoroughly  tempered  and  have  some  insight  into  the 
ways  of  mankind.  Gerard,  whose  rank,  since  suppressed, 
brought  him  into  close  contact  with  his  commandant,  made 
up  his  mind  to  reply,  and  to  ask  for  the  rest  of  the  political 
news  which  had  evidently  been  passed  over ;  but  a  sign  from 
Hulot  kept  him  silent,  and  all  three  of  them  fell  to  scrutiniz- 
ing Marche-a-Terre. 

The  Chouan  showed  not  the  least  sign  of  agitation  at  finding 
himself  watched  in  this  way  by  men  as  formidable  intellectu- 
ally as  they  were  physically.  This  sort  of  warfare  was  a 
novelty  to  the  two  officers ;  their  curiosity  was  keenly  excited 
by  the  opening  event,  and  the  whole  matter  seemed  to  be 
invested  with  an  almost  romantic  interest.  They  were  in- 
clined to  joke  about  it ;  but  at  the  first  word  which  they  let 
fall,  Hulot  looked  at  them  sternly  and  said — 

"  Tonnerre  de  Dieu,  citizens  !  don't  smoke  your  pipes  over 
a  barrel  of  powder.  You  might  as  well  amuse  yourselves  with 
carrying  water  in  a  basket,  as  by  showing  courage  where  it  isn't 
wanted.  Gerard,  "  he  continued,  leaning  over,  and  whisper- 
ing in  the  adjutant's  ear,  "get  nearer  to  the  brigand  bit  by 
bit,  and  if  he  makes  the  least  suspicious  movement,  run  him 
through  the  body  at  once.  And  I  myself  will  take  measures 
for  keeping  up  the  conversation  if  our  unknown  friends  really 
have  a  mind  to  begin  it." 

Gerard  bent  his  head  slightly  in  obedience.  Then  he 
began  to  look  round  at  different  points  in  the  landscape  of 
the  valley,  with  which  the  reader  has  had  an  opportunity  of 
making  himself  familiar.  He  appeared  to  wish  to  study  them 
more  closely,  stepping  back  upon  himself,  so  to  speak,  quite 


24  THE   CHOUANS. 

naturally ;  but  the  landscape,  it  will  well  be  believed,  was  the 
last  thing  he  had  in  view.  Marche-a-Terre,  on  the  other 
hand,  took  no  heed  whatever  of  the  officer's  manoeuvres. 
One  might  have  supposed  that  he  was  fishing  in  the  ditch 
with  a  rod  and  line,  from  the  way  he  played  with  his  whip 
handle. 

While  Gerard  was  trying  in  this  way  to  take  up  his  position 
by  the  Chouan,  the  commandant  spoke  in  a  low  voice  to 
Merle. 

"  Take  ten  picked  men  and  a  sergeant,  and  post  them  your- 
self up  above  us,  just  on  that  part  of  the  summit  on  this  side 
where  the  road  widens  and  makes  a  kind  of  plateau ;  you 
could  see  a  good  long  stretch  of  the  road  to  Ernee  from  the 
place.  Pick  out  a  spot  where  there  are  no  woods  on  either 
side  of  the  road,  so  that  the  sergeant  can  keep  a  lookout  over 
the  country  round.  Take  Clefdes-Coeurs ;  he  has  his  wits 
about  him.  This  is  no  laughing  matter  at  all ;  I  would  not 
give  a  penny  for  our  skins  if  we  don't  take  every  advantage 
we  can  get." 

Captain  Merle  understood  the  importance  of  prompt  action 
and  the  manoeuvre  was  executed  at  once.  Then  the  com- 
mandant waved  his  right  hand,  demanding  <ibsolute  silence 
from  his  men,  who  stood  round  about  amusing  themselves 
with  chat.  He  signed  to  them  afresh  to  shoulder  arms,  and 
as  soon  as  everything  was  quiet  again,  his  eyes  traveled 
from  one  side  of  the  road  to  the  other;  he  seemed  in  hope  to 
detect  muffled  sounds  of  weapons  or  of  footsteps,  prelimi- 
naries of  the  looked-for  struggle,  and  to  be  listening  anxiously 
for  them.  His  keen  black  eyes  appeared  to  penetrate  to  the 
very  depths  of  the  woods  in  a  marvelous  way.  No  sign  was 
forthcoming.  He  consulted  the  sand  on  the  road,  as  savages 
do,  trying  by  every  means  by  which  he  could  discover  the 
invisible  foes  whose  audacity  was  known  to  him. 

In  despair  at  finding  nothing  which  justified  his  fears,  he 
went  towards  the  side  of  the  road,  climbed  with  some  diffi- 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  25 

culty  up  the  bank,  and  went  deliberately  along  the  top  of  it. 
Suddenly  he  felt  how  largely  his  own  experience  conduced  to 
the  safety  of  his  detachment,  and  he  came  down  again.  His 
face  grew  darker,  for  leaders  in  those  days  were  wont  to  regret 
that  they  could  not  reserve  the  most  dangerous  missions  for 
themselves  alone.  The  other  officers  and  the  men  noticed 
their  leader's  preoccupied  mood.  They  liked  him.  The  cour- 
age of  his  character  was  recognized  among  them  j  so  they 
knew  that  this  exceeding  caution  on  his  part  meant  that  danger 
was  at  hand.  How  serious  it  was  they  could  not  possibly  sus- 
p)ect ;  so,  though  they  remained  motionless  and  scarcely  drew 
their  breath,  it  was  done  intuitively.  The  soldiers  looked  by 
turns  along  the  valley  of  the  Couesnon,  at  the  woods  along 
the  road,  and  at  their  commandant's  stern  face,  trying  to 
gather  what  their  fate  was  to  be,  much  as  the  dogs  try  to  guess 
what  the  experienced  sportsman  means  who  gives  them  some 
order  which  they  cannot  understand.  They  looked  at  each 
other's  eyes,  and  a  smile  spread  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

As  Hulot  made  his  peculiar  grimace,  Beau-Pied,  a  young 
sergeant,  who  was  regarded  as  the  wit  of  the  company,  said 
in  a  low  voice — 

"  What  the  devil  have  we  run  ourselves  into  to  make  that 
old  dragoon  of  a  Hulot  to  turn  such  a  muddy  face  on  us  ? 
He  looks  like  a  whole  council  of  war." 

Hulot  flung  a  stern  glance  at  Beau-Pied,  and  forthwith  there 
was  a  sudden  accession  of  the  silence  required  by  the  men 
under  arms.  In  the  middle  of  this  awful  pause  the  lagging 
foosteps  of  the  conscripts  were  heard.  The  gravel  under 
their  feet  gave  out  a  dull,  monotonous  sound  that  added  a  vague 
disagreeable  feeling  to  the  general  anxiety,  an  indescribable 
feeling  that  can  only  be  understood  by  those  who,  in  the  silence 
of  the  night,  have  been  victims  of  a  terrible  suspense,  and 
have  felt  their  hearts  beat  heavily  with  redoubled  quickness  at 
some  monotonous  recurring  noise  which  has  seemed  to  pour 
terror  through  them  drop  by  drop.    The  commandant  reached 


26  THE   CHOUANS. 

the  middle  of  the  road  again.  He  was  beginning  to  ask  him- 
self, "Am  I  deceived  ?"  His  rage  concentrated  itself  already 
upon  Marche-a-Terre  and  his  stolid  tranquillity ;  it  flashed  in 
his  eyes  like  lightning  as  he  looked  at  him ;  but  he  discerned 
a  savage  irony  in  the  Chouan's  sullen  gaze  that  convinced  him 
that  It  would  be  better  not  to  discontinue  his  precautionary 
measures.  His  captain,  Merle,  came  up  to  him  just  then, 
after  having  executed  Hulot's  orders.  The  mute  actors  in 
this  scene,  which  was  like  so  many  another  that  was  to  make 
this  war  one  of  the  most  dramatic  ever  known,  were  looking 
out  impatiently  for  new  sensations,  curious  to  see  any  fresh 
manoeuvres  that  should  throw  a  light  on  obscure  points  of  the 
military  position,  for  their  benefit. 

**  Captain,"  said  the  commandant,  *' we  did  well  to  put  the 
small  number  of  patriots  that  we  can  depend  upon  among  the 
requisitionaires  at  the  rear  of  the  detachment.  Take  another 
dozen  of  stout  fellows  and  put  Sub-lieutenant  Lebrun  at  the 
head  of  them ;  take  them  down  quickly  yourself  to  the  rear 
of  the  detachment ;  they  will  support  the  patriots  down  there, 
and  they  will  make  the  whole  troop  of  rascals  move  on,  and 
quickly  too,  and  bring  them  up  to  the  level  of  our  own  men 
in  no  time.     I  am  waiting  for  you." 

The  captain  disappeared  among  the  troop.  The  command- 
ant looked  out  four  resolute  men,  whom  he  knew  to  be  alert 
and  active,  and  called  them  by  a  gesture  only ;  he  tapped  his 
nose  with  his  forefinger,  and  then  pointed  to  each  in  turn  by 
way  of  a  friendly  sign.  The  four  approached  him.  "You 
served  with  me  under  Hoche,"  said  he,  "when  we  gave  these 
scoundrels  who  call  themselves  "  Chasseurs  du  Roi  "  a  lesson, 
and  you  know  their  ways  of  hiding  themselves  so  as  to  pepper 
the  Blues!" 

All  four  soldiers  held  up  their  heads  and  pressed  their  lips 
together  significantly  at  this  praise  of  their  quick-wittedness. 
There  was  a  reckless  acquiescence  in  the  soldierly  heroic  faces 
which  showed  that  since  the  beginning  of  the  struggle  between 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  27 

France  and  Europe,  their  thoughts  had  scarcely  strayed  be- 
yond the  limits  of  the  cartridge  pouch  at  their  backs  and  the 
bayonet  they  carried  in  front.  They  stood  with  pursed-up 
mouths,  looking  curiously  and  attentively  at  the  commandant. 

"Very  well,"  went  on  Hulot,  who  in  an  eminent  degree 
possessed  the  art  of  speaking  in  the  soldier's  picturesque  lan- 
guage, "stout  fellows,  such  as  we  are,  must  never  allow  the 
Chouans  to  make  fools  of  us ;  and  there  are  Chouans  about, 
or  my  name  is  not  Hulot.  Be  off,  the  four  of  you,  and  beat 
up  either  side  of  the  road.  The  detachment  is  going  to  slip 
its  cable ;  keep  well  alongside  of  it.  Try  not  to  hand  in  your 
checks,  and  clear  up  this  business  for  me.     Sharp !  " 

He  pointed  out  the  dangerous  heights  above  the  road.  By 
way  of  thanks,  all  four  raised  the  backs  of  their  hands  before 
their  old  cocked  hats;  the  turned-up  brims,  weather-beaten 
now  and  limp  with  age,  had  fallen  over  the  crowns.  One  of 
them,  Larose  by  name,  a  corporal  that  Hulot  knew,  said  as  he 
made  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  ring  on  the  ground — 

"  They  shall  have  a  solo  on  the  clarionette,  commandant." 

They  set  out,  two  of  them  to  the  right,  and  the  others  to 
the  left.  It  was  not  without  an  inward  tremor  that  the  com- 
pany saw  them  disappear  on  either  side  of  the  way.  The 
commandant  shared  in  this  anxiety ;  he  believed  that  he  had 
sent  them  to  a  certain  death.  He  shuddered  in  spite  of  him- 
self when  he  saw  their  hats  no  longer,  and  both  officers  and 
men  heard  the  sound  of  their  footsteps  on  the  dead  leaves 
gradually  dying  away  with  a  feeling  all  the  more  acutely 
painful  for  being  hidden  so  far  beneath  the  surface.  In  war 
there  are  scenes  like  these,  when  four  men  sent  into  jeopardy 
cause  more  consternation  than  the  thousands  of  corpses 
stretched  upon  the  field  at  Jemappes.  So  many  and  so  fleet- 
ing are  the  expressions  of  the  military  physiognomy,  that 
those  who  would  fain  depict  them  are  obliged  to  call  up 
memories  of  soldiers  in  the  past,  and  to  leave  it  to  non-com- 
batants to  study  their  dramatic  figures,  for  these  stormy  times 


28  THE  CHOUANS. 

were  so  rich  in  detail  that  any  complete  description  of  them 
could  only  be  made  at  interminable  length. 

Just  as  the  gleam  of  the  bayonets  of  the  four  soldiers  was  no 
longer  visible,  Captain  Merle  came  back  after  executing  the 
commandant's  orders  with  lightning  speed.  With  two  or 
three  words  of  command  Hulot  set  the  rest  of  his  troop  in 
order  of  battle  in  the  middle  of  the  road ;  then  he  gave  the 
word  to  regain  the  summit  of  the  Pelerine,  where  his  little 
advance  guard  was  posted,  and  he  himself  followed  last  of  all, 
walking  backwards,  so  that  he  might  see  the  slightest  change 
that  should  come  over  any  of  the  principal  points  in  that 
view  which  nature  had  made  so  enchanting,  and  man,  so  full 
of  terrors. 

Marche-a-Terre  had  followed  all  the  commandant's  ma- 
noeuvres with  indifferent  eyes,  but  he  had  watched  the  two 
soldiers  as  they  penetrated  the  woods  that  lay  to  the  right 
with  incredible  keenness ;  and  now,  as  Hulot  reached  the 
spot  where  Gerard  stood  on  guard  over  him,  Marche-a-Terre 
began  to  whistle  two  or  three  times  in  away  that  imitated  the 
shrill,  far-reaching  cry  of  the  screech-owl. 

The  three  notorious  smugglers  whose  names  have  been 
already  mentioned  used  to  employ  some  of  the  notes  of  that 
cry  at  night  to  give  warning  of  an  ambush,  of  danger,  or  of 
anything  else  that  concerned  them.  In  this  way  the  nick- 
name "  Chuin  "  arose,  which,  in  the  dialect  of  the  country, 
means  an  owl,  or  screech-owl.  A  corruption  of  the  word 
served  to  designate  those  who  in  the  previous  war  had  adopted 
the  tactics  and  signals  of  the  three  brothers,  so  that  when  he 
heard  the  suspicious  whistle  the  commandant  stopped  and 
fixed  his  gaze  on  Marche-a-Terre.  He  affected  to  be  deceived 
by  the  Chouan's  appearance  of  imbecility,  that  he  might  keep 
him  at  his  side  as  a  kind  of  barometer  to  indicate  the  enemy's 
movements.  So  he  caught  Gerard's  hand  as  it  was  raised  to 
dispatch  the  Chouan,  and  posted  two  soldiers  a  few  paces 
away  from  the  spy,  ordering  them  in  loud  and  distinct  tones 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  29 

to  be  ready  to  shoot  him  down  if  he  attempted  to  make  the 
slightest  signal  of  any  kind.  In  spite  of  his  imminent  peril, 
Marche-a-Terre  showed  no  sort  of  perturbation,  and  the 
commandant,  who  was  studying  him,  noticed  this  indifference. 

"The  chap  isn't  up  to  everything,"  he  said  to  Gerard. 
"Aha!  it  is  not  so  easy  to  read  a  Chouan's  face;  but  this 
fellow's  wish  to  exhibit  his  intrepidity  has  betrayed  him.  If 
he  had  shammed  fright,  Gerard,  I  should  have  taken  him  for 
a  nincompoop,  you  see ;  and  there  would  have  been  a  pair  of 
us,  he  and  I.  I  had  come  to  the  end  of  my  tether.  Ah, 
we  shall  be  attacked  !  But  let  them  come ;  I  am  ready 
now!  " 

The  old  soldier  rubbed  his  hands  triumphantly  when  he  had 
muttered  these  words,  and  looked  maliciously  at  Marche-a- 
Terre  ;  then  he  locked  his  arms  over  his  chest,  took  his  stand 
in  the  middle  of  the  road  between  his  two  favorite  officers, 
and  awaited  the  result  of  the  measures  he  had  taken.  Sure 
of  the  issue,  he  looked  his  men  over  calmly. 

"Oho  !  we  are  going  to  have  a  row,"  said  Beau-Pied  in  a 
low  voice  ;  "  the  commandant  is  rubbing  his  hands." 

Commandant  Hulot  and  his  detachment  found  themselves 
in  one  of  those  critical  positions  where  life  is  really  at  stake, 
and  when  men  of  energetic  character  feel  themselves  in 
honor  bound  to  show  coolness  and  self-possession.  Such  times 
bring  a  man  to  the  final  test.  The  commandant,  therefore, 
who  knew  the  danger  better  than  any  of  his  officers,  prided 
himself  on  appearing  the  coolest  person  present.  With  his 
eyes  fixed  alternately  on  the  woods,  the  roadway,  and  Marche- 
a-Terre,  he  was  expecting  the  general  onslaught  of  the  Chouans 
(who,  as  he  believed,  lay  concealed  all  about  them  like 
goblins),  with  an  unmoved  face,  but  not  without  inward 
anguish.  Just  as  the  men's  eyes  were  all  turned  upon  his, 
slight  creases  appeared  in  the  brown  cheeks  with  the  scars  of 
smallpox  upon  them,  the  commandant  screwed  his  lip  sharply 
up  to  one  side,  blinked  his  eyes,  a  grimace  which  was  under- 


30  THE   CHOUANS. 

stood  to  be  a  smile  by  his  men,  then  he  clapped  Gerard  on 
the  shoulder,  saying — 

*'  Now  we  have  time  to  talk.  What  were  you  going  to  say 
to  me  just  now?  " 

"What  new  crisis  have  we  here,  commandant?" 

"It  is  nothing  new,"  he  answered  in  a  low  voice ;  "all 
Europe  has  a  chance  against  us  this  time.  Whilst  the  directors 
are  squabbling  among  themselves  like  horses  left  in  the  stable 
without  any  oats,  and  are  letting  the  government  go  all  to 
pieces,  they  leave  their  armies  unsupported.  We  are  utterly 
ruined  in  Italy.  Yes,  my  friends,  we  have  evacuated  Mantua 
on  the  top  of  the  disasters  at  la  Trebbia,  and  Joubert  has  just 
lost  the  battle  of  Novi.  I  only  hope  Massena  will  guard  the 
Swiss  passes,  for  Suwarrofif  is  overrunning  the  country.  We 
are  beaten  along  the  Rhine.  Moreau  has  been  sent  out  there 
by  the  directory.  He  is  a  fine  fellow,  but  is  he  going  to 
keep  the  frontier?  I  wish  he  may,  I  am  sure;  but  the  coali- 
tion will  crush  us  altogether  at  last,  and  unluckily  the  one 
general  who  could  save  us  has  gone  to  the  devil  down  there 
in  Egypt !  And  how  is  he  to  get  back  moreover  ?  England 
is  mistress  of  the  seas." 

"Bonaparte's  absence  does  not  trouble  me,  commandant," 
said  Gerard,  his  young  adjutant,  whose  superior  faculties  had 
been  developed  by  a  careful  education.  "  Is  our  Revolution 
to  end  like  that  ?  We  are  bound  to  do  more  than  merely 
defend  the  soil  of  France ;  ours  is  a  double  mission.  Ought 
we  not  to  keep  alive  the  very  soul  of  our  country,  the  gener- 
ous principles  of  liberty  and  independence,  that  human 
reason  evoked  by  our  assemblies,  which  is  winning  its  way,  I 
Jiope,  little  by  little  ?  France  is  like  a  traveler  with  a  light 
in  her  keeping ;  she  must  carry  it  in  one  hand  and  defend 
herself  with  the  other;  if  your  news  is  well  founded,  for 
these  ten  years  past  we  have  never  been  surrounded  by  so 
many  who  would  seek  to  blow  it  out.  Our  doctrines  and 
our  country,  all  alike  are  about  to  perish." 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  31 

"Alas,  yes!"  sighed  the  commandant  Hulot.  "Those 
mountebanks  of  directors  have  managed  to  quarrel  with  all 
the  men  who  could  have  steered  the  vessel — Bernadotte, 
Carnot,  and  every  one  else  down  to  citizen  Talleyrand  has 
abandoned  us.  There  is  only  one  good  patriot  left  in  fact, 
our  friend  Fouche,  who  has  everything  in  his  hands  by  police 
supervision.  There  is  a  man  for  you  !  He  it  was,  too,  who 
gave  me  warning  in  time  of  this  insurrection.  For  all  that, 
here  we  are  in  some  pitfall  or  other,  I  am  positive." 

"  Oh,  if  the  army  did  not  interfere  a  little  in  the  govern- 
ment," said  Gerard,  "the  lawyers  would  put  us  back  in  a 
worse  position  than  we  were  in  before  the  Revolution.  Do 
those  wretches  understand  how  to  make  themselves  obeyed  ?  " 

"  I  am  always  in  fear  that  I  shall  hear  of  their  treating 
with  the  Bourbon  princes.  To7inerre  de  Dieu  !  If  they  came 
to  an  understanding,  what  a  fix  some  of  the  rest  of  us 
would  be  in  out  here." 

"No,  no,  commandant;  we  shall  not  come  to  that,"  said 
Gerard.  "  As  you  say,  the  army  would  make  its  voice  heard ; 
and  so  that  the  army  does  not  pick  its  words  out  of  Piche- 
gru's  dictionary,  we  shall  not  have  been  cutting  ourselves  to 
pieces  for  ten  years,  I  hope,  over  carding  the  flax  for  others  to 
spin." 

"Well,"  said  Captain  Merle,  "let  us  always  conduct  our- 
selves here  like  good  patriots,  and  try  to  cut  off  the  Chouan 
communications  with  la  Vendee  ;  for  if  once  they  hear  that 
England  has  a  finger  in  the  matter,  I  would  not  answer  for 
the  cap  of  our  Republic,  one  and  indivisible." 

Just  then  the  cry  of  a  screech-owl,  heard  from  some  con- 
siderable distance,  interrupted  the  conversation.  Still  more 
uneasily  the  commandant  again  furtively  scrutinized  Marche- 
a-Terre ;  there  was  no  sign  of  animation,  so  to  speak,  in  his 
stolid  face.  The  recruits,  drawn  up  together  by  one  of  the 
officers,  were  mustered  like  a  herd  of  cattle  in  the  crown  of 
the  road,   some  thirty  paces  from  the    troops   in  order    of 


32  THE  CHOUANS. 

battle.  Behind  them  again,  at  the  distance  of  some  ten 
paces,  came  the  soldiers  and  patriots  commanded  by  Lieu- 
tenant Lebrun.  The  commandant  ran  his  eyes  over  this  array, 
and  gave  a  last  glance  at  the  picket  posted  in  advance  up 
the  road.  Satisfied  with  this  disposition  of  his  forces,  he 
turned  to  give  the  order  to  march,  when  he  saw  the  tricolor 
cockades  of  two  of  his  scouts  returning  from  the  search  of 
the  woods  that  lay  on  the  left.  As  he  saw  no  sign  whatever 
of  the  two  sent  to  reconnoitre  the  right-hand  woods,  the 
commandant  determined  to  wait  for  them. 

"Perhaps  the  trouble  is  coming  from  that  quarter,"  he 
remarked  to  his  two  officers  as  he  pointed  out  the  woods 
which  seemed  to  have  swallowed  up  his  two  enfanis  perdus. 

While  the  two  scouts  were  making  some  sort  of  report, 
Hulot  ceased  to  watch  Marche-a-Terre.  The  Chouan  began 
again  to  give  a  sharp  whistle,  a  cry  so  shrill  that  it  could  be 
heard  a  long  way  off;  and  then,  before  either  of  his  guards  so 
much  as  saw  what  he  was  after,  he  dealt  them  each  a  blow 
from  his  whip-handle  that  stretched  them  on  the  roadside. 
All  at  once  answering  cries,  or  rather  savage  yells,  startled 
the  Republicans.  A  terrible  fire  was  opened  upon  them  from 
the  wood  that  crowned  the  slope  where  the  Chouan  had 
been  sitting,  and  seven  or  eight  of  their  men  fell.  Five  or  six 
soldiers  had  taken  aim  at  Marche-a-Terre,  but  none  of  them 
hit  him.  He  had  climbed  the  slope  with  the  agility  of  a  wild 
cat  and  disappeared  in  the  woods  above.  His  sabots  rolled 
down  into  the  ditch,  and  it  was  easy  then  to  see  upon  his  feet 
the  great  iron-bound  shoes  which  were  always  worn  by  the 
Chasseurs  du  Roi.  At  the  first  alarm  given  by  the  Chouans, 
all  the  recruits  had  made  a  dash  for  it  into  the  woods  on  the 
right,  like  a  flock  of  birds  scared  by  the  approach  of  a 
passer-by. 

"Fire  on  those  rascals  !  "  roared  the  commandant. 

The  company  fired,  but  the  recruits  were  well  able  to  screen 
themselves  from  the  musket-shots.     Every  man  set  his  back 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  83 

against  a  tree,  and  before  the  muskets  had  been  reloaded,  they 
were  all  out  of  sight. 

"Issue  warrants  for  a  departmental  legion,  eh  ?  "  Hulot  said 
to  Gerard.  "  One  would  have  to  be  as  big  a  fool  as  a  direc- 
tor to  put  any  dependence  on  a  requisition  from  this  district. 
The  assemblies  would  show  more  sense  if  they  would  send  us 
clothing  and  money,  and  ammunition,  and  give  up  voting 
reinforcements." 

"  These  swine  like  their  bannocks  better  than  ammunition 
bread,"  said  Beau-Pied,  the  wag  of  the  company. 

At  his  words,  hooting  and  yells  of  derisive  laughter  went  up 
from  the  Republican  troops,  crying  shame  on  the  deserters, 
but  a  sudden  silence  followed  all  at  once.  The  soldiers  saw 
the  two  scouts  who  had  been  sent  by  the  commandant  to 
search  the  woods  on  the  right,  painfully  toiling  down  the 
slope,  the  less  injured  man  supporting  his  comrade,  whose 
blood  drenched  the  earth.  The  two  poor  fellows  had  scarcely 
reached  the  middle  of  the  bank  when  Marche-a-Terre  showed 
his  hideous  face.  His  aim  was  so  certain  that,  with  one  shot, 
he  hit  them  both,  and  they  rolled  heavily  down  into  the  ditch. 
His  huge  head  had  barely  shown  itself  before  the  muzzles  of 
some  thirty  muskets  were  leveled  at  him ;  but  he  had  disap- 
peared like  a  phantom  behind  the  ominous  gorse  bushes.  All 
these  things,  which  it  takes  so  many  words  to  describe,  came 
to  pass  almost  in  a  moment ',  and  in  a  moment  more,  the 
patriots  and  soldiers  of  the  rear-guard  came  up  with  the  rest 
of  the  escort. 

"  Forward  !  "  shouted  Hulot. 

The  company  rapidly  gained  the  high  and  exposed  position 
where  the  pickets  had  been  placed.  The  commandant  then 
drew  up  his  forces  in  order  of  battle,  but  he  saw  no  further 
hostile  demonstration  on  the  part  of  the  Chouans,  and  thought 
that  the  sole  object  of  the  ambuscade  was  the  deliverance  of 
his  conscripts. 

**  Their  cries  tell  me  that  they  are  not  in  great  force.  Let 
3 


34  THE    CHOUANS. 

US  march  double  quick.  We  may  possibly  get  to  Ernee  before 
we  have  them  down  upon  us." 

A  patriot  conscript  overheard  the  words,  left  the  ranks,  and 
stood  before  Hulot. 

"General,"  said  he,  "I've  seen  some  of  this  sort  of  fight- 
ing before  as  a  Counter-Chouan.  May  I  put  in  a  word  or 
two?" 

"Here's  one  of  these  barrack-lawyers,"  the  commandant 
muttered  in  Merle's  ears;  "  they  always  think  they  are  on  for 
hearing.  Go  on;  argue  away,"  he  added  to  the  young  man 
from  Fougeres. 

"  Commandant,  the  Chouans  have  brought  arms,  of  course, 
for  those  men  that  they  have  just  recruited.  If  we  have  to  run 
for  it  now,  they  will  be  waiting  for  us  at  every  turn  in  the  woods, 
and  will  pick  us  off  to  a  man  before  we  can  get  to  Ern6e. 
We  must  argue,  as  you  say,  but  it  must  be  with  cartridges ; 
then,  during  the  skirmish,  which  will  last  longer  than  you 
look  for,  one  of  us  could  go  for  the  National  Guard,  and  the 
Free  Companies  stationed  at  Fougeres.  We  may  be  con- 
scripts, but  you  shall  see  by  that  time  that  we  are  not  carrion- 
kites." 

"  Then  you  think  the  Chouans  are  here  in  some  force  !  " 

**  Judge  for  yourself,  citizen-commandant." 

He  led  Hulot  to  a  spot  on  the  plateau  where  the  sand  had 
been  disturbed,  as  if  a  rake  had  been  over  it ;  and,  after  calling 
Hulot's  attention  to  this,  led  him  some  little  way  along  a  foot- 
path where  traces  of  the  passage  of  a  large  body  of  men  were 
distinctly  visible.  Leaves  had  been  trodden  right  into  the 
trampled  earth. 

"That  will  be  the  gars  from  Vitr^,"  said  the  Fougerais; 
**they  have  gone  to  join  the  Bas-Normands." 

"What  is  your  name,  citizen?  "  asked  Hulot. 

"Gudin,  commandant." 

"  Well,  then,  Gudin,  I  shall  make  you  corporal  of  your 
townsmen  here.     You  are  a  long-headed  fellow,  it  seems  to 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  35 

me.  I  leave  it  to  you  to  pick  out  one  of  your  comrades, 
who  must  be  sent  to  Fougeres,  and  you  yourself  will  keep 
close  beside  me.  But,  first,  there  are  these  two  poor  com- 
rades of  ours  that  those  brigands  have  laid  out  on  the  road 
there — you  and  some  of  your  conscripts  can  go  and  take  their 
guns,  and  clothes,  and  cartridge-boxes.  You  shall  not  stop 
here  to  take  shots  without  returning  them." 

The  brave  Fougerais  went  to  strip  the  dead,  protected  by 
an  energetic  fire  kept  up  upon  the  woods  by  the  whole  com- 
pany. It  had  its  effect,  for  the  party  returned  without  losing 
a  man. 

"These  Bretons  will  make  good  soldiers,"  said  Hu!ot  to 
Gerard,  "if  their  mess  happens  to  take  their  fancy." 

Gudin's  messenger  set  out  at  a  trot  down  a  pathway  that 
turned  off  to  the  left  through  the  woods.  The  soldiers,  ab- 
sorbed in  examining  their  weapons,  prepared  for  the  coming 
struggle.  The  commandant  passed  them  in  review,  smiled 
encouragingly,  and,  placing  himself  with  his  two  favorite 
oflftcers  a  step  or  two  in  advance,  awaited  the  onset  of  the 
Chouans  with  composure. 

Silence  prevailed  again,  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  Then 
three  hundred  Chouans,  dressed  exactly  like  the  requisition- 
aires,  issued  from  the  woods  to  the  right.  They  came  on  in 
no  order,  uttering  fearful  cries,  and  occupied  the  width  of  the 
road  before  the  little  battalion  of  Blues.  The  commandant 
divided  his  troops  into  two  equal  parts,  each  part  presenting 
a  front  of  ten  men  to  the  enemy.  Between  these  divisions, 
and  in  the  centre,  he  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  his  band 
of  twelve  hastily  equipped  conscripts.  The  little  army  was 
protected  by  two  wings  of  twenty-five  men  each,  under  the 
command  of  Gerard  and  Merle.  These  officers  were  to  take 
the  Chouans  adroitly  in  the  flank,  and  to  prevent  them  from 
scattering  about  the  country — s'egaillier  they  call  the  move- 
ment in  the  patois  of  this  district,  where  every  peasant  would 
take  up  his  position  where  he  could  shoot  at  the  Blues  without 


36  THE   CHOUANS. 

exposing  himself,  and  the  Republican  troops  were  utterly  at  a 
loss  to  know  where  to  locate  their  enemies. 

These  arrangements,  made  with  the  rapidity  demanded  by 
the  circumstances,  seemed  to  infuse  the  commandant's  self- 
reliance  into  the  men,  and  all  advanced  upon  the  Chouans  in 
silence.  At  the  end  of  the  few  seconds  needed  for  the  two 
bodies  of  men  to  approach  each  other,  there  was  a  sudden 
discharge  at  close  quarters  which  scattered  death  through 
either  rank ;  but  in  a  moment  the  Republican  wings  had 
wheeled  and  taken  the  Chouans  in  the  flank.  These  latter 
had  no  means  of  opposing  them,  and  the  hot,  pertinacious 
fire  of  their  enemies  spread  death  and  disorder  in  their  midst. 
This  manoeuvre  nearly  redressed  the  balance  of  the  numbers 
on  either  side ;  but  the  courage  and  firmness  of  the  Chouan 
character  was  equal  to  all  tests.  They  did  not  give  way ;  their 
losses  did  not  shake  them ;  they  closed  their  ranks  and  tried 
to  surround  the  little,  dark,  compact  line  of  Blues,  who  ap- 
peared in  the  narrow  space  they  occupied  like  a  queen  bee  in 
the  midst  of  a  swarm. 

Then  they  engaged  in  one  of  those  horrible  struggles  at 
close  quarters,  when  the  rattle  of  musketry  almost  ceases,  and 
the  click  of  the  bayonets  is  heard  instead,  and  the  ranks  meet 
man  to  man  ;  and,  courage  being  equal  on  either  side,  the 
victory  is  one  by  sheer  force  of  numbers.  At  first  the 
Chouans  would  have  carried  all  before  them  if  the  two  wings 
under  Merle  and  Gerard  had  not  brought  two  or  three  enfilad- 
ing volleys  to  bear  on  the  enemy's  rear.  By  rights  the  two 
wings  should  have  stayed  where  they  were,  and  continued  to 
pick  off  their  formidable  foes  in  this  adroit  manner ;  but  the 
sight  of  the  heroic  battalion,  now  hemmed  in  on  all  sides  by 
the  Chasseurs  du  Roi,  excited  them.  They  flung  themselves 
like  madmen  into  the  struggle  on  the  roadway,  bayonet  in 
hand,  and  redressed  the  balance  again  for  a  few  moments. 
Both  sides  gave  themselves  up  to  a  furious  zeal,  aggravated  by 
the  ferocious  cruelty  of  party-spirit  that  made  this  war  an 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  37 

exception.  Each  became  absorbed  by  his  own  peril,  and  was 
silent.  The  place  seemed  chill  and  dark  with  death.  The 
only  sounds  that  broke  the  silence,  and  rose  above  the  clash 
of  weapons  and  the  grating  noise  of  the  gravel  underfoot, 
were  the  deep,  hollow  groans  of  those  who  fell  badly  wounded, 
or  of  the  dying  as  they  lay.  In  the  Republican  centre  the 
dozen  conscripts  defended  the  person  of  the  commandant 
(who  issued  continual  warnings  and  orders  manifold)  with 
such  courage  that  more  than  once  a  soldier  here  and  there  had 
cried,  "  Bravo,  conscripts  !  " 

Hulot,  the  imperturbable  and  wide-awake,  soon  noticed 
among  the  Chouans  a  man,  also  surrounded  by  picked  troops, 
who  appeared  to  be  their  leader.  It  seemed  to  him  very  needful 
to  make  quite  sure  of  this  officer  \  now  and  again  he  made 
efforts  to  distinguish  his  features,  hidden  by  a  crowd  of  broad 
hats  and  red  caps,  and  in  this  way  he  recognized  Marche-a- 
Terre  beside  the  officer,  repeating  his  orders  in  a  hoarse  voice, 
while  he  kept  his  carbine  in  constant  use.  Hulot  grew  tired 
of  the  repeated  annoyance.  He  drew  his  sword,  encouraged 
his  requisitionaires,  and  dashed  so  furiously  upon  the  Chouan 
centre  that  he  penetrated  their  ranks  and  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  officer,  whose  face,  unluckily,  was  hidden  by  a  large  felt 
hat  with  a  white  cockade.  But  the  stranger,  taken  somewhat 
aback  by  this  bold  onset,  suddenly  raised  his  hat.  Hulot 
seized  the  opportunity  to  make  a  rapid  survey  of  his  opponent. 

The  young  chief,  who  seemed  to  Hulot  to  be  about  twenty- 
five  years  of  age,  wore  a  short  green  cloth  shooting  coat. 
The  white  sash  at  his  waist  held  pistols,  the  heavy  shoes  he 
wore  were  bound  with  iron  like  those  of  the  Chouans;  gaiters 
reaching  to  the  knee,  and  breeches  of  some  coarse  material, 
completed  the  costume.  He  was  of  middle  height,  but  well 
and  gracefully  made.  In  his  anger  at  seeing  the  Blues  so 
near  to  him,  he  thrust  on  his  hat  again  and  turned  towards 
them,  but  Marche-a-Terre  and  others  of  his  party  surrounded 
him  at  once,  in  alarm.     Still  through  gaps  in  the  crowd  of 


38  THE   CHOUANS. 

faces  that  pressed  about  the  young  man  and  came  between 
them,  Hulot  felt  sure  he  saw  a  broad  red  riband  on  the  officer's 
unfastened  coat,  that  showed  the  wearer  to  be  a  knight  com- 
mander of  the  Order  of  St.  Louis.  The  commandant's  eyes, 
at  first  attracted  by  the  long-forgotten  royal  decoration,  were 
turned  next  upon  a  face,  which  he  lost  sight  of  again  in  a 
moment,  for  the  risks  of  battle  compelled  him  to  watch  closely 
over  the  safety  and  the  movements  of  his  own  little  band. 
He  had  scarcely  time  to  see  the  color  of  the  sparkling  eyes, 
but  the  fair  hair  and  delicately  cut  features  tanned  by  the  sun 
did  not  escape  him,  nor  the  gleam  of  a  bare  neck  that  seemed 
all  the  whiter  by  contrast  with  a  loosely  knotted  black  scarf. 
There  was  the  enthusiasm  and  excitement  of  a  soldier  in  the 
bearing  of  the  young  leader,  and  of  a  type  of  soldier  for 
whom  a  certain  dramatic  element  seems  desirable  in  a  fight. 
The  hand  that  swung  the  sword-blade  aloft  in  the  sunlight  was 
well  gloved,  vigor  was  expressed  in  the  face,  and  a  certain 
refinement  also  in  a  like  degree.  In  his  high-wrought  exalta- 
tion, set  off  by  all  the  charms  of  youth  and  graciousness  of 
manner,  he  seemed  to  be  a  fair  ideal  type  of  the  French 
noblesse ;  while  Hulot,  not  four  paces  from  him,  might  have 
been  the  embodiment  of  the  energetic  Republic  for  whom  the 
veteran  was  fighting.  His  stern  face,  his  blue  uniform  faced 
with  the  worn  red  facings,  the  grimy  epaulettes  that  hung 
back  over  his  shoulders,  expressed  the  character  and  the 
deficiencies  of  their  owner. 

The  graceful  attitude  and  expression  of  the  younger  man  were 
not  lost  upon  Hulot,  who  shouted  as  he  tried  to  reach  him — 

**  Here  you,  ballet-dancer  !  come  a  little  nearer,  so  that  I 
may  get  a  chance  at  you  !  " 

The  Royalist  leader,  irritated  by  the  momentary  check, 
made  a  desperate  forward  movement;  but  the  moment  his 
own  men  saw  the  danger  he  was  thus  incurring,  they  all 
flung  themselves  upon  the  Blues.  A  clear,  sweet  voice  sud- 
denly rang  out  above  the  din  of  conflict — 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  39 

"  Here  it  was  that  the  sainted  Lescure  fell !  Will  you  not 
avenge  him  ?" 

At  these  magical  words  the  Chouan  onset  became  terrible  j 
the  little  troup  of  Republican  soldiers  kept  their  line  unbroken 
with  the  greatest  difficulty. 

"  If  he  had  not  been  a  youngster,"  said  Hulot  to  himself, 
as  he  gave  way  step  by  step,  "  we  should  not  have  been 
attacked  at  all.  When  did  Chouans  offer  battle  before  ?  But 
so  much  the  better,  they  won't  shoot  us  down  like  dogs  along 
the  road." 

He  raised  his  voice  till  the  woods  echoed  with  the  words — 

"  Come,  look  alive,  men  ;  are  we  going  to  let  ourselves  be 
fooled  by  these  bandits  ?  " 

The  verb  is  but  a  feeble  substitute  for  that  of  the  gallant 
commander's  choice,  but  old  hands  will  be  able  to  insert  the 
genuine  word,  which  certainly  possesses  a  more  soldierly 
flavor. 

"Gerard,  Merle,"  the  commandant  continued,  "call  in 
your  men,  form  them  in  columns,  and  fall  on  their  rear,  fire 
on  these  curs,  and  make  an  end  of  them  !  " 

Hulot's  orders  were  carried  out  with  great  difficulty ;  for 
the  young  chief  heard  the  voice  of  his  antagonist,  and 
shouted — 

"  Saint  Anne  of  Auray !  Don't  let  them  get  away ! 
Scatter  yourselves,  my  gars  !  ' ' 

As  either  wing  commanded  by  Merle  and  G6rard  with- 
drew from  the  thick  of  the  fray,  each  little  column  was 
pertinaciously  followed  by  Chouans  in  greatly  superior  num- 
bers. The  old  goat-skins  surrounded  the  men  under  Merle 
and  Gerard  on  all  sides,  once  more  uttering  those  threatening 
cries  of  theirs,  like  the  howls  of  wild  beasts. 

" Silence, gentlemen  !  "  shouted  Beau-Pied;  we  can't  hear 
ourselves  being  killed." 

The  joke  put  fresh  heart  into  the  Blues. 

The  fighting   was  no  longer  concentrated  upon  a  single 


40  THE   CHOUANS. 

point,  the  Republicans  defended  themselves  in  three  different 
places  on  the  plateau  of  the  Pelerine,  and  the  valleys,  so  quiet 
hitherto,  re-echoed  with  the  sound  of  the  firing.  Hours 
might  have  passed  and  left  the  issue  still  undecided,  or  the 
struggle  might  have  come  to  an  end  for  lack  of  combatants. 
The  courage  of  Blues  and  Chouans  was  evenly  matched,  and 
the  fierce  desire  of  battle  was  surging  as  it  were  from  the 
one  side  to  the  other,  when  far  away  and  faintly  there 
sounded  the  tap  of  a  drum,  and  from  the  direction  of  the 
sound  the  corps  that  it  heralded  must  be  crossing  the  valley 
of  the  Couesnon. 

"That  is  the  National  Guard  from  Fougeres !  "  cried 
Gudin ;  **  Vannier  must  have  fallen  in  with  them  !  " 

His  voice  reached  the  young  leader  and  his  ferocious  aide- 
de-camp  ;  the  Royalists  began  to  give  way  ;  but  a  cry  like  a 
wild  beast's  from  Marche-a-Terre  promptly  checked  them. 
Two  or  three  orders  were  given  in  a  low  voice  by  the  chief, 
and  translated  by  Marche-a-Terre  into  Bas-Breton  for  the 
Chouans ;  and  the  retreat  began,  conducted  with  a  skill 
which  bafiied  the  Republicans,  and  even  their  commandant. 
In  the  first  place,  such  of  the  Chouans  as  were  not  disabled 
drew  up  in  line  at  the  word,  and  presented  a  formidable 
front  to  the  enemy,  while  the  wounded  and  the  remainder 
of  them  fell  behind  to  load  their  guns.  Then  all  at  once, 
with  a  swiftness  of  which  Marche-a-Terre  had  given  an  exam- 
ple, the  wounded  from  the  rear  gained  the  summits  of  the  bank 
on  the  right  side  of  the  road,  and  were  followed  thither  by 
half  of  the  remaining  Chouans,  who  clambered  nimbly  up, 
and  manned  the  top  of  the  bank,  only  their  energetic  heads 
being  visible  to  the  Blues  below.  Once  there,  they  made 
a  sort  of  rampart  of  the  trees,  and  thence  they  brought  the 
barrels  of  their  guns  to  bear  upon  the  remnant  of  the  escort, 
who  had  rapidly  drawn  up  in  obedience  to  repeated  orders 
from  Hulot,  in  such  a  way  as  to  present  a  front  equal  to 
that  of   the  Chouans,  who  were  still   occupying  the   road. 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  41 

These  last  fell  back,  still  disputing  the  ground,  and  wheeled 
so  as  to  bring  themselves  under  cover  of  the  fire  of  their  own 
party.  When  they  reached  the  ditch  which  lay  by  the  road- 
side, they  scrambled  in  their  turn  up  the  steep  slope,  whose 
top  was  held  by  their  own  comrades,  and  so  rejoined  them, 
steadily  supporting  the  murderous  fire  of  the  Republicans, 
which  filled  the  ditch  with  dead  bodies,  the  men  from  the 
height  of  the  scarp  replying  the  while  with  a  fire  no  less  deadly. 

Just  then  the  National  Guard  from  Fougeres  arrived  at  a 
run  on  the  scene  of  the  conflict,  and  with  their  presence  the 
affair  was  at  an  end.  A  few  excited  soldiers  and  the  National 
Guards  were  leaving  the  footpath  to  follow  them  up  in  the 
woods,  but  the  commandant  called  to  them  in  his  soldier's 
voice,  "  Do  you  want  to  be  cut  to  bits  over  there?  " 

They  came  up  with  the  Republican  troops,  who  were  left  in 
possession  of  the  field  indeed,  but  only  after  heavy  losses. 
Then  all  the  old  hats  went  aloft  on  the  points  of  their  bayo- 
nets, while  every  soldier's  voice  cried  twice  over,  "  Long  live 
the  Republic  !  "  Even  the  wounded  men  lying  by  the  road- 
side shared  alike  in  the  enthusiasm,  and  Hulot  squeezed  his 
lieutenant's  hand  as  he  said — 

"One  might  call  that  pluck,  eh?" 

Merle  was  ordered  to  bury  the  dead  in  a  ravine  by  the  way- 
side. Carts  and  horses  were  requisitioned  from  neighboring 
farms  for  the  wounded,  whom  their  comrades  hastened  to  lay 
on  the  clothing  taken  from  the  dead.  Before  they  set  out, 
the  National  Guard  from  Fougeres.  brought  a  Chouan  to 
Hulot;  the  man  was  dangerously  wounded,  and  had  been 
found  lying  exhausted  at  the  foot  of  the  slope,  up  which  his 
party  had  made  their  escape. 

"  Thanks  for  this  prompt  stroke  of  yours,  citizen,"  said  the 
commandant.  "  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  !  we  should  have  had  a 
bad  quarter  of  an  hour  but  for  you.  You  must  look  out  for 
yourselves  now ;  the  war  has  broken  out  in  earnest.  Good 
day,  gentlemen !  " 


42  THE   CHOUANS. 

Hulot  turned  to  his  prisoner. 

"  What  is  your  general's  name  !  " 

"The  Gars." 

"  Who  ?     Marche-a-Terre  ?  ' ' 

"No,  the  Gars." 

"  And  where  does  the  Gars  come  from?  " 

To  this  question  the  Chasseur  du  Roi  made  no  reply ;  his 
wild,  weather-beaten  face  was  drawn  with  pain;  he  took  his 
beads  and  began  to  mutter  a  prayer. 

"The  Gars  is  that  young  ci-devant  with  the  black  cravat, 
no  doubt.  He  has  been  sent  over  here  by  the  Tyrant  and  his 
allies  Pitt  and  Cobourg " 

Here  the  Chouan,  who  had  so  far  seemed  unconscious  of 
what  was  going  on,  raised  his  head  at  the  words  to  say 
proudly — 

"  Sent  by  God  and  the  King  !  " 

The  energy  with  which  he  spoke  exhausted  his  strength. 
The  commandant  turned  away  with  a  frown.  He  saw  the 
difficulty  of  interrogating  a  dying  man,  a  man,  moreover, 
who  bore  signs  of  a  gloomy  fanaticism  in  every  line  of  his 
face.  Two  of  his  men  stepped  forward  and  took  aim  at  the 
Chouan  ;  they  were  friends  of  the  two  poor  fellows  whom 
Marche-a-Terre  had  dispatched  so  brutally  with  a  blow  from 
his  whip  at  the  outset,  for  both  were  lying  dead  at  the  road- 
side. The  Chouan's  steady  eyes  did  not  flinch  before  the 
barrels  of  the  muskets  that  they  pointed  at  him,  although  they 
fired  close  to  his  face.  He  fell ;  but  when  the  men  came  up 
to  strip  the  corpse,  he  shouted  again  for  the  last  time,  "Long 
live  the  King!" 

"All  right,  curmudgeon,"  said  Clef-des-Coeurs.  "  Be  off 
to  your  Holy  Virgin  and  get  your  supper.  Didn't  he  come 
back  and  say  to  our  faces,  'Long  live  the  Tyrant,'  when  we 
thought  it  was  all  over  with  him." 

"Here,  sir,"  said  Beau-Pied;  "here  are  the  brigand's 
papers." 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  43 

"Look  here,  though,"  cried  Clef-des-Coeurs ;  "here's  a 
fellow  been  enlisted  by  the  saints  above ;  he  wears  their  badge 
here  on  his  chest !" 

Hulot  and  some  others  made  a  group  around  the  Chouan's 
naked  body,  and  saw  upon  the  dead  man's  breast  a  flaming 
heart  tattooed  in  a  bluish  color,  a  token  that  the  wearer  had 
been  initiated  into  the  Brotherhood  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 
Under  the  symbol  Hulot  made  out  "Marie  Lambrequin," 
evidently  the  Chouan's  own  name. 

"  You  see  that,  Clef-des-Coeurs,"  asked  Beau-Pied.  "  Well, 
you  would  guess  away  for  a  century  and  never  find  out  what 
that  part  of  his  accoutrements  means." 

"  How  should  /  know  about  the  Pope's  uniforms?"  replied 
Clef-des-Coeurs. 

"  You  good-for-nothing  flint-crusher,  will  you  never  be  any 
wiser?  Can't  you  see  that  they  promised  the  chap  there  that 
he  should  come  to  life  again  ?  He  painted  his  gizzard  so  as 
to  be  known  by  it."  There  was  some  ground  for  the  witticism. 
Hulot  himself  could  not  help  joining  in  the  general  laughter 
that  followed. 

By  this  time  Merle  had  buried  the  dead,  and  the  wounded 
had  been  laid  in  the  carts  as  carefully  as  might  be.  The  other 
soldiers  formed  a  double  file,  one  on  either  side  of  the  im- 
provised ambulance  wagons,  and  in  this  manner  they  went 
down  the  other  side  of  the  mountain,  the  outlook  over  Maine 
before  their  eyes,  and  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Pelerine,  which 
rivals  that  of  Couesnon.  Hulot  and  his  two  friends,  Merle 
and  Gerard,  followed  slowly  after  the  men,  wishing  that  they 
might,  without  further  mishap,  reach  Ernee,  where  the  wounded 
could  be  attended  to. 

This  engagement,  though  scarcely  heard  of  in  France, 
where  great  events  were  even  then  taking  place,  attracted 
some  attention  in  the  west,  where  this  second  rising  filled 
every  one's  thoughts.  A  change  was  remarked  in  the  methods 
adopted  by  the  Chouans  in  the  opening  of  the  war ;  never 


44  THE   CHOUANS. 

before  had  they  attacked  so  considerable  a  body  of  troops. 
Hulot's  conjectures  led  him  to  suppose  that  the  young  Royalist 
whom  he  had  seen  must  be  "the  Gars,"  a  new  general  sent 
over  to  France  by  the  princes,  and  that  his  own  name  and  title 
were  concealed  after  the  custom  of  Royalist  leaders  by  that 
kind  of  nickname  which  is  called  a  nom-de-guerre.  This  cir- 
cumstance made  him  as  uneasy  after  his  first  dubious  victory  as 
he  had  been  on  his  first  suspicion  of  an  ambuscade ;  more 
than  once  he  turned  to  look  at  the  plateau  of  La  Pelerine, 
which  he  was  leaving  behind,  while  even  yet  at  intervals  the 
faint  sound  of  a  drum  reached  him,  for  the  National  Guard 
was  going  down  the  valley  of  the  Coueson,  while  they  them- 
selves were  descending  the  valley  of  La  Pelerine. 

"  Can  either  of  you  suggest  their  motive  for  attacking  us?" 
he  began  abruptly,  addressing  his  two  friends.  *'  Fighting  is 
a  kind  of  trade  in  musket-shots  for  them,  and  I  cannot  see 
that  they  have  made  anything  in  our  case.  They  must  have 
lost  at  least  a  hundred  men;  while  we,"  he  added,  screwing 
up  his  right  cheek,  and  winking  his  eyes  by  way  of  a  smile, 
"  have  not  lost  sixty.  By  heaven,  I  can't  understand  the  specu- 
lation !  The  rogues  need  never  have  attacked  us  at  all.  We 
should  have  gone  past  the  place  like  letters  by  the  post,  and  I 
can't  see  what  good  it  did  them  to  make  holes  in  our  fel- 
lows." 

He  pointed  dejectedly  to  the  wounded  as  he  spoke.  *'  May 
be  they  wanted  to  wish  us  good-day,"  he  added. 

**  But  they  have  secured  a  hundred  and  fifty  of  our  lambs," 
said  Merle,  thinking  of  the  recruits. 

**  The  requisitionaires  could  have  hopped  off  into  the  woods 
like  frogs  ;  we  should  not  have  gone  in  to  fish  them  out  again, 
at  any  rate  not  after  a  volley  or  two.  No,  no,"  went  on 
Hulot,  "there  is  something  more  behind." 

He  turned  again  to  look  at  La  Pelerine. 

"  Stay,"  he  cried  ;  "  look  there  !  " 

Far  away  as  they  were  from  the  unlucky  plateau  by  this 


THE   AMBUSCADE.  45 

time,  the  practiced  eyes  of  the  three  officers  easily  made  out 
Marche-a-Terre  and  others  in  possession  of  the  place. 

"  Quick  march  !  "  cried  Hulot  to  his  troop.  "Stir  your 
shanks  and  make  those  horses  move  on  faster  than  that.  Are 
their  legs  frozen  ?  Have  the  beasts  also  been  sent  over  by 
Pitt  and  Cobourg  ?  "  The  pace  of  the  little  troop  was  quick- 
ened by  the  words. 

**  I  hope  to  heaven  we  shall  not  have  to  clear  up  this 
mystery  at  Ernee  with  powder  and  ball,"  he  said  to  the 
two  officers;  "it  is  too  dark  a  business  for  me  to  see 
through  readily.  I  am  afraid  that  we  shall  be  told  that 
the  king's  subjects  have  cut  off  our  communications  with 
Mayenne." 

The  very  strategical  problem  which  made  Hulot's  moustache 
bristle,  gave  anxiety,  no  whit  less  keen,  to  the  men  whom  he 
had  discovered  upon  the  summit  of  La  Pelerine.  The  drum 
of  the  National  Guard  from  Fougeres  was  hardly  out  of  ear- 
shot, the  Blues  had  only  reached  the  bottom  of  the  long 
steep  road  below,  when  Marche-a-Terre  cheerfully  gave  the 
cry  of  the  screech  owl  again,  and  the  Chouans  reappeared, 
but  in  smaller  numbers.  Some  of  them  must  have  been 
occupied  in  bandaging  the  wounded  at  the  village  of  La 
Pelerine,  on  the  side  of  the  hills  overlooking  the  valley  of 
the  Couesnon.  Two  or  three  Chasseurs  du  Roi  came  up  to 
Marche-a-Terre. 

Four  paces  away  the  young  noble  sat  musing  on  a  granite 
boulder,  absorbed  by  the  numerous  thoughts  to  which  his 
difficult  enterprise  gave  rise  in  him.  Marche-a-Terre  shaded 
the  sun  from  his  eyes  with  his  hand  as  he  dejectedly  followed 
the  progress  of  the  Republicans  down  the  valley  of  La  Pelerine. 
His  small  keen  black  eyes  were  trying  to  discover  what  was 
passing  on  the  horizon  where  the  road  left  the  valley  for  the 
opposite  hillside. 

"  The  Blues  will  intercept  the  mail,"  said  one  of  the  chiefs 
sullenly,  who  stood  nearest  to  Marche-a-Terre. 


46  THE   CHOUANS. 

"  By  St.  Anne  of  Auray  !  "  asked  another,  "  why  did  you 
make  us  fight  ?     To  save  your  own  skin  ?  " 

Marche-a-Terre's  glance  at  the  speaker  was  full  of  malignity ; 
he  rapped  the  but  of  his  heavy  carbine  on  the  ground.  *'  Am 
I  in  command?"  said  he.  Then  after  a  pause  he  went  on, 
"  If  all  of  you  had  fought  as  I  did,  not  one  of  the  Blues 
would  have  escaped,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  remnant  of 
Hulot's  detachment  below,  "  and  perhaps  then  the  coach 
would  have  come  through  as  far  as  here." 

*'  Do  you  suppose,"  asked  a  third  speaker,  "  that  the  idea 
of  escorting  it,  or  stopping  it  either,  would  have  crossed  their 
minds  if  we  had  let  them  pass  peaceably  ?  You  wanted  to 
save  your  own  hide,  you  that  would  have  it  the  Blues  were  not 
on  the  march.  He  must  save  his  own  bacon,"  he  went  on, 
turning  to  the  others,  "and  the  rest  of  us  must  bleed  for  it, 
and  we  are  likely  to  lose  twenty  thousand  francs  in  good  gold 
coin  besides." 

"Bacon  yourself!"  cried  Marche-a-Terre,  drawing  back 
and  bringing  his  carbine  to  bear  on  his  adversary.  "  It's  not 
that  you  hate  the  Blues,  but  that  you  are  fond  of  money. 
You  shall  die  without  confession,  do  you  hear  ?  A  damned 
rascal  that  hasn't  taken  the  sacrament  this  twelvemonth  past." 

The  Chouan  turned  white  with  rage  at  this  insult,  a  deep 
growl  came  from  his  chest  as  he  raised  his  musket  and  pointed 
it  at  Marche-a-Terre.  The  young  leader  rushed  between 
them,  knocked  the  firearms  out  of  their  hands  by  striking  up 
their  weapons  with  the  stock  of  his  carbine,  and  demanded  an 
explanation  of  the  quarrel.  The  dispute  had  been  carried  on 
in  Bas-Breton,  with  which  he  was  not  very  familiar. 

Marche-a-Terre  explained,  and  ended  his  discourse  with, 
"It's  the  more  shame  to  them  that  bear  a  grudge  against  me, 
my  Lord  Marquis,  for  I  left  Pille-Miche  behind,  and  very 
likely  he  will  keep  the  coach  out  of  these  robbers'  clutches." 
He  pointed  to  the  Blues,  for  these  faithful  defenders  of  altar 
and  throne  were  all  brigands  and  murderers  of  Louis  XVI. 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  47 

"  What  ?  "  cried  the  young  man  angrily.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  say  you  are  waiting  here  to  stop  a  coach  ?  You  cowards, 
who  could  not  gain  the  victory  in  the  first  encounter  with  me 
for  your  commander !  How  is  victory  possible  with  such 
intentions  ?  So  those  who  fight  for  God  and  the  King  are 
pillagers?  By  St.  Anne  of  Auray  !  we  are  making  war  on  the 
Republic  and  not  on  diligences.  Any  one  guilty  of  such 
disgraceful  actions  in  the  future  will  not  be  pardoned,  and 
shall  not  benefit  by  the  favors  destined  for  brave  and  faithful 
servants  of  the  King." 

A  murmur  like  a  growl  arose  from  the  band.  It  was  easy 
to  see  that  the  authority  of  the  new  leader,  never  very  sure 
over  these  undisciplined  troops,  had  been  compromised. 
Nothing  of  this  was  lost  upon  the  young  man,  who  cast  about 
him  for  a  means  of  saving  his  orders  from  discredit,  when  the 
sound  of  approaching  horse-hoofs  broke  the  silence.  Every 
head  was  turned  in  the  direction  whence  the  sound  seemed  to 
come.  A  young  woman  appeared,  mounted  sideways  upon  a 
little  horse ;  her  pace  quickened  to  a  gallop  as  soon  as  she  saw 
the  young  man. 

**  What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked,  looking  by  turns  at  the 
chief  and  the  assembled  Chouans. 

"  Would  you  believe  it,  madame,  they  are  waiting  to  plun- 
der the  coach  that  runs  between  Mayenne  and  Fougeres,  just 
as  we  have  liberated  our  gars  from  Fougeres  in  a  skirmish 
which  has  cost  us  a  good  many  lives,  without  our  being  able 
to  demolish  the  Blues." 

"Very  well,  but  where  is  the  harm?"  asked  the  young 
lady,  whose  woman's  tact  had  revealed  the  secret  of  this  scene 
to  her.  "You  have  lost  some  men,  you  say;  we  shall  never 
run  short  of  them.  The  mail  is  carrying  money,  and  we 
are  always  short  of  that.  We  will  bury  our  men,  who  will 
go  to  heaven,  and  we  will  take  the  money,  which  will  go 
into  the  pockets  of  these  good  fellows.  What  is  the  objec- 
tion?" 


48  THE   C HO  VANS. 

Every  face  among  the  Chouans  beamed  with  approval  at 
her  words. 

"Is  there  nothing  in  this  to  make  you  blush?"  said  the 
young  man  in  a  low  voice.  "Are  you  in  such  straits  for 
money  that  you  have  to  take  the  road  for  it  ?  " 

*'  I  am  so  in  want  of  it,  Marquis,  that  I  could  put  my  heart 
in  pledge  for  it,  I  think,  if  it  were  still  in  my  keeping,"  she 
said,  smiling  coquettishly  at  him.  "  Where  can  you  come 
from  to  think  of  employing  Chouans  without  allowing  them 
to  plunder  the  Blues  now  and  again?  Don't  you  know  the 
proverb,  '  Thievish  as  an  owl,'  and  what  else  is  a  Chouan  ? 
Besides,"  she  went  on,  raising  her  voice,  "  is  it  not  a  righteous 
action  ?  Have  not  the  Blues  robbed  us,  and  taken  the  prop- 
erty of  the  Church?" 

Again  a  murmur  from  the  Chouans  greeted  her  words,  a 
very  different  sound  from  the  growl  with  which  they  had  an- 
swered the  Marquis.  The  color  on  the  young  man's  brow 
grew  darker,  he  stepped  a  little  aside  with  the  lady,  and  began 
with  the  lively  petulance  of  a  well-bred  man — 

"Will  these  gentlemen  come  to  the  Viveti^re  on  the  ap- 
pointed day?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "all  of  them,  I'lntime,  Grand 
Jacques,  and  possibly  Ferdinand." 

"  Then  permit  me  to  return  thither,  for  I  cannot  sanction 
such  brigandage  by  my  presence.  Yes,  madame,  I  say  it  is 
brigandage.    A  noble  may  allow  himself  to  be  robbed,  but — " 

"Very  well  then,"  she  broke  in;  "I  shall  have  your 
share,  and  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  giving  it  up  to  me. 
The  prize  money  will  put  me  in  funds.  My  mother  has 
delayed  sending  money  to  me  for  so  long  that  I  am  fairly 
desperate." 

"Good-bye,"  said  the  Marquis,  and  he  disappeared.  The 
lady  hurried  quickly  after  him. 

"  Why  won't  you  stay  with  me?"  she  asked,  with  a  glance 
half-tyrannous,  half-tender ;  such  a  glance  as  a  woman  gives  to 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  49 

a  man  over  whom  she  exerts  a  claim,  when  she  desires  to  make 

her  wishes  known  to  him. 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  plunder  the  coach?  " 

"  Plunder  ?"  she  repeated;  "what  a  strange  expression! 
Let  me  explain " 

*'  Not  a  word,"  he  said,  taking  both  her  hands  and  kissing 
them  with  a  courtier's  ready  gallantry.  "Listen  to  me,"  he 
went  on,  after  a  pause,  "  if  I  were  to  stay  here  while  they 
stop  the  coach,  our  people  would  kill  me,  for  I  should " 

*'  They  would  not  kill  you,"  she  answered  quickly  ;  **  they 
would  tie  your  hands  together,  always  with  due  respect  to 
your  rank  ;  and  after  levying  upon  the  Republicans  a  contri- 
bution sufficient  for  their  equipment  and  maintenance,  and 
for  some  purchases  of  gunpowder,  they  would  again  obey  you 
blindly." 

"And  you  would  have  me  command  here?  If  my  life  is 
necessary  to  the  cause  for  which  I  am  fighting,  you  must  allow 
me  to  save  my  honor  as  a  commander,  I  can  pass  over  this 
piece  of  cowardice  if  it  is  done  in  my  absence.  I  will  come 
back  again  to  be  your  escort." 

He  walked  rapidly  away.  The  young  lady  heard  the  sound 
of  his  footsteps  with  evident  vexation.  When  the  sound  of 
his  tread  on  the  dead  rustling  leaves  had  died  away,  she  waited 
a  while  like  one  stupefied,  then  she  hurried  back  to  the 
Chouans.  An  abrupt  scornful  gesture  escaped  her ;  she  said 
to  Marche-a-Terre,  who  was  aiding  her  to  dismount,  "The 
young  man  wants  to  open  war  on  the  Republic  in  regular 
form  ! — Ah,  well,  he  will  alter  his  mind  in  a  day  or  two. 
But  how  he  has  treated  me  !"  she  said  to  herself  after  a  pause. 

She  sat  down  on  a  rock  where  the  Marquis  had  been  sitting, 
and  waited  the  coming  of  the  coach  in  silence.  It  was  not 
one  of  the  least  significant  signs  of  the  times  that  a  young  and 
noble  lady  should  be  thus  brought  by  violent  party  feeling  into 
the  struggle  between  the  monarchies  and  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
impelled  by  the  strength  of  those  feelings  to  assist  in  deeds, 
4 


50  THE   CHOUANS. 

to  which  she  yet  was  (so  to  speak)  not  an  accessory,  led  like 
many  another  by  an  exaltation  of  soul  that  sometimes  brings 
great  things  to  pass.  Many  a  woman,  like  her,  played  a  part 
in  those  troubled  times  j  sometimes  it  was  a  sorry  one,  some- 
times the  part  of  a  heroine.  The  Royalist  cause  found  no 
more  devoted  and  active  emissaries  than  among  such  women 
as  these. 

In  expiation  of  the  errors  of  devotion,  or  for  the  mischances 
of  the  false  position  in  which  these  heroines  of  their  cause  were 
placed,  perhaps  none  suffered  so  bitterly  as  the  lady  at  that 
moment  seated  on  a  slab  of  granite  by  the  wayside  ;  yet  even  in 
her  despair  she  could  not  but  admire  the  noble  pride  and  the 
loyalty  of  the  young  chief.  Insensibly  she  fell  to  musing 
deeply.  Bitter  memories  awoke  that  made  her  look  longingly 
back  to  early  and  innocent  days,  and  regret  that  she  had  not 
fallen  a  victim  to  this  Revolution,  whose  progress  such  weak 
hands  as  hers  could  never  stay. 

The  coach,  which  had  counted  for  something  in  the  Chouan 
attack,  had  left  the  village  of  Ernee  some  moments  before  the 
two  parties  began  skirmishing.  Nothing  reveals  the  character 
of  a  country  more  clearly  than  its  means  of  communication. 
Looked  at  in  this  light,  the  coach  deserves  special  attention. 
The  Revolution  itself  was  powerless  to  destroy  it ;  it  is  going 
yet  in  our  own  day. 

When  Turgot  resumed  the  monopoly  of  conveyance  of 
passengers  throughout  France,  which  Louis  XIV.  had  granted 
to  a  company,  he  started  the  fresh  enterprise  which  gave  his 
name  to  the  coaches  or  "  turgotines ;  "  and  then  out  into 
the  provinces  went  the  old  chariots  of  Messrs.  de  Vousges, 
Chauteclaire,  and  the  widow  Lacombe,  to  do  service  upon 
the  highways.  One  of  these  miserable  vehicles  came  and 
went  between  Mayenne  and  Fougeres.  They  were  called 
"turgotines"  out  of  pure  perversity  and  by  way  of  anti- 
phrasis  ;  perhaps  a  dislike  for  the  minister  who  started  the  in- 
novation, or  a  desire  to  mimic  Paris,  suggested  the  appellation. 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  51 

This  "  turgotine  "  was  a  crazy  cabriolet,  with  two  enor- 
mous wheels :  its  back  seat,  which  scarcely  afforded  room 
for  two  fairly  stout  people,  served  also  as  a  box  for  carrying 
the  mails.  Some  care  was  required  not  to  overload  the 
feeble  structure ;  but  if  travelers  carried  any  luggage,  it  had 
to  lie  in  the  bottom  of  the  coach,  a  narrow  box-like  hole 
shaped  like  a  pair  of  bellows,  where  their  feet  and  legs  were 
already  cramped  for  room.  The  original  color  of  the  body 
and  the  wheels  offered  an  insoluble  enigma  to  the  attention 
of  passengers.  Two  leather  curtains,  unmanageable  in  spite 
of  their  long  service,  protected  the  sufferers  from  wind  and 
weather.  The  driver,  seated  in  front  on  a  rickety  bench, 
as  in  the  wretchedest  chaises  about  Paris,  was  perforce 
included  in  the  conversation,  by  reason  of  his  peculiar  posi- 
tion among  his  victims,  biped  and  quadruped.  There  were 
fantastic  resemblances  between  the  vehicle  and  some  decrepit 
old  man  who  has  come  through  so  many  bronchial  attacks  and 
apoplectic  seizures  that  death  seems  to  respect  him.  It  went 
complainingly,  and  creaked  at  every  other  moment.  Like  a 
traveler  overtaken  by  heavy  slumber,  it  lurched  backwards 
and  forwards,  as  if  it  would  fain  have  resisted  the  strenuous 
eflForts  of  the  little  Breton  horses  that  dragged  it  over  a  toler- 
ably uneven  road.  This  relic  of  a  bygone  time  held  three 
passengers  ;  their  conversation  had  been  interrupted  at  Ernee 
while  the  horses  were  changed,  and  was  now  resumed  as  they 
left  the  place. 

"What  makes  you  think  that  the  Chouans  will  show  them- 
selves out  here  ?  "  asked  the  driver.  "  They  have  just  told 
me  at  Ernee  that  the  commandant  Hulot  had  not  yet  left 
Fougdres. ' ' 

"It's  all  very  well  for  you,  friend,"  said  the  youngest  of 
the  three;  "you  risk  nothing  but  your  own  skin.  If  you 
were  known  as  a  good  patriot  and  carried  three  hundred 
crowns  about  you,  as  I  do,  you  wouldn't  take  things  so 
easily." 


52  THE   CHOLANS. 

"In  any  case,  you  are  very  imprudent,"  said  the  driver, 
shaking  his  head. 

"You  may  count  your  sheep  and  yet  the  wolf  will  get 
them,"  said  the  second  person.  He  was  dressed  in  black, 
looked  about  forty  years  of  age,  and  seemed  to  be  a  rector 
thereabouts.  His  double  chin  and  florid  complexion  marked 
him  out  as  belonging  to  the  Church.  Short  and  stout  though 
he  was,  he  displayed  a  certain  agility  each  time  he  got  in  or 
out'of  the  conveyance. 

"Are  you  Chouans  ?  "  cried  the  owner  of  the  three  hun- 
dred crowns.  His  voluminous  goat-skin  cloak  covered  breeches 
of  good  cloth  and  a  very  decent  waistcoat,  all  signs  of  a  well- 
to-do  farmer.  "  By  the  soul  of  St.  Robespierre,"  he  went 
on,  "you  shall  be  well  received " 

He  looked  from  the  driver  to  the  rector,  and  showed  them 
both  the  pistols  at  his  waist. 

"Bretons  are  not  to  be  frightened  that  way,"  said  the 
cure;  and  besides  that,  do  we  look  as  if  we  wanted  your 
money?" 

"  Each  time  the  word  money  was  mentioned  the  driver  be- 
came silent.  The  rector's  wits  were  keen  enough  to  make  him 
suspect  that  the  patriot  had  no  money,  and  that  there  was 
some  cash  in  the  keeping  of  their  charioteer. 

"  Have  you  much  of  a  load,  Coupiau?  "  he  inquired. 

"Next  to  nothing,  as  you  may  say,  Monsieur  Gudin," 
replied  the  driver. 

Monsieur  Gudin  looked  inquiringly  from  Coupiau  to  the 
patriot  at  this,  but  both  countenances  were  alike  imperturbable. 

"So  much  the  better  for  you,"  answered  the  patriot.  "  I 
shall  take  my  own  measures  for  protecting  my  money  if  any- 
thing goes  wrong." 

This  direct  assumption  of  despotic  authority  provoked 
Coupiau  into  replying  roughly — 

**  I  am  the  master  here  in  the  coach,  and  so  long  as  I 
take  you  to " 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  53 

**  Are  you  a  patriot  or  a  Chouan  ?  "  interrupted  his  adver- 
sary sharply. 

"I  am  neither,"  answered  Coupiau;  "I  am  a  postilion, 
and,  what  is  more,  a  Breton ;  and  therefore  I  am  not  afraid 
of  Blues  nor  of  gentlemen." 

"Gentlemen  of  the  road,  you  mean,"  said  the  patriot 
sardonically. 

**  They  only  take  what  others  have  taken  from  them,"  put 
in  the  rector  quickly,  while  the  eyes  of  either  traveler  stared 
at  the  other  as  if  to  penetrate  into  the  other's  brain.  In 
the  interior  of  the  coach  sat  a  third  passenger,  who  remained 
absolutely  silent  through  the  thick  of  the  debate.  Neither 
the  driver,  the  patriot,  nor  Gudin  himself  took  the  slightest 
heed  of  his  nonentity.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  one  of 
those  tiresome  and  inconvenient  people  who  travel  by  coach  as 
passively  as  a  calf  that  is  carried  with  its  legs  tied  up  to  a  neigh- 
boring market.  At  the  outset  they  possess  themselves  of  at  least 
the  space  allotted  to  them  by  the  regulations,  and  end  by 
sleeping  without  consideration  or  humanity  on  their  neighbor's 
shoulders.  The  patriot,  Gudin,  and  the  driver  had  let  him 
alone,  thinking  that  he  was  asleep,  as  soon  as  they  had  ascer- 
tained that  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  converse  with  a  man 
whose  stony  countenance  bore  the  records  of  a  life  spent  in 
measuring  ells  of  cloth,  and  a  mind  bent  solely  upon  buying 
cheap  and  selling  dear.  Yet,  in  the  corner  where  he  lay  curled 
up,  a  pair  of  china-blue  eyes  opened  from  time  to  time ; 
the  stout,  little  man  had  viewed  each  speaker  in  turn  with 
alarm,  doubt,  and  mistrust,  but  he  seemed  to  stand  in  fear  of 
his  traveling  companions,  and  to  trouble  himself  very  little 
about  Chouans.  The  driver  and  he  looked  at  one  another 
like  a  pair  of  freemasons.  Just  then  the  firing  began  at  La  Pel- 
erine ;  Coupiau  stopped  in  dismay,  not  knowing  what  to  do. 

"  Oh,  ho  !  "  said  the  churchman,  who  seemed  to  grasp  the 
situation;  "this  is  something  serious.  There  are  a  lot  of 
people  about." 


54  THE   CHOUANS. 

"  The  question  is,  who  will  get  the  best  of  it,  M.  Gudin  ?  " 
cried  Coupiau,  and  this  time  the  same  anxiety  was  seen  on 
all  faces. 

"  Let  us  put  up  at  the  inn  down  there,  and  hide  the  coach 
till  the  affair  is  decided,"  suggested  Coupiau. 

This  advice  seemed  so  sound  that  Coupiau  acted  upon  it, 
and  with  the  patriot's  help  concealed  the  coach  behind  a  pile 
of  faggots. 

The  supposed  rector  found  an  opportunity  of  whispering  to 
Coupiau — 

"  Has  he  really  any  money  ?  " 

"  Eh,  M.  Gudin,  if  all  he  has  found  its  way  into  your 
reverence's  pockets  they  would  not  be  very  heavy." 

The  Republicans,  hurrying  to  reach  Ernee,  came  past  the 
inn  without  stopping  there.  The  sound  of  their  rapid  march 
brought  Gudin  and  the  innkeeper  to  the  door  to  watch  them 
curiously.  All  at  once  the  stout  ecclesiastic  made  a  dash  at  a 
soldier  who  was  lagging  behind. 

"Eh?"  he  cried,  "Gudin!  Are  you  really  going  with 
the  Blues?  Infatuated  boy!  Do  you  know  what  you  are 
about?" 

"Yes,  uncle,"  answered  the  corporal;  "I  have  sworn  to 
fight  for  France  !" 

"But  your  soul  is  in  danger,  scapegrace,"  cried  his  uncle, 
appealing  to  the  religious  scruples  that  are  so  strong  in  Breton 
hearts. 

"  Well,  uncle,  I  won't  say  but  that  if  the  king  had  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  his " 

"Idiot!  Who  is  talking  about  the  king?  Will  your 
Republic  give  preferment  ?  It  has  upset  everything  !  What 
kind  of  a  career  do  you  expect  ?  Stay  with  us  ;  we  shall 
triumph  some  day  or  other,  and  then  you  shall  be  made  coun- 
cillor to  some  Parliament." 

" A  Parliament ?"  asked  Gudin  mockingly.  "Good-bye, 
uncle !  " 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  55 

"You  shall  not  have  the  worth  of  three  louis  from  me;  I 
shall  disinherit  you,"  his  uncle  called  angrily  after  him. 

"Thanks,"  said  the  Republican,  and  they  parted- 

The  fumes  of  cider  to  which  the  patriot  had  treated  Coupiau 
while  the  little  troop  was  passing  had  succeeded  in  obscuring 
the  driver's  intelligence  somewhat ;  but  he  brightened  up 
again  when  the  landlord,  having  learned  the  upshot  of  the 
struggle,  brought  the  news  of  a  victory  for  the  Blues.  Coupiau 
brought  out  his  coach  upon  the  road  again,  and  they  were  not 
long  in  showing  themselves  in  the  bottom  of  the  valley  of 
La  Pelerine.  From  the  plateaux  of  Maine  and  of  Brittany 
both  it  was  easy  to  see  the  coach  lying  in  the  trough  between 
two  great  waves,  like  a  bit  of  wreckage  after  a  storm  at  sea. 

Hulot  meanwhile  had  reached  the  summit  of  a  slope  that 
the  Blues  were  climbing.  La  Pelerine  was  still  in  sight,  a 
long  way  off,  so  he  turned  to  see  if  the  Chouans  still  remained 
on  the  spot.  The  sunlight  shining  on  the  barrels  of  their 
muskets  marked  them  out  for  him  as  a  little  group  of  bright 
dots.  As  he  scanned  the  valley  for  the  last  time  before  quit- 
ting it  for  the  valley  of  Ernee,  he  thought  he  could  discern 
Coupiau's  chariot  on  the  high  road. 

"Isn't  that  the  Mayenne  coach?"  he  asked  of  his  two 
comrades,  who  turned  their  attention  to  the  old  turgotine  and 
recognized  it  perfectly  well. 

"  Well,  then,  how  was  it  that  we  did  not  meet  it?"  asked 
Hulot,  as  all  three  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 

"Here  is  one  more  enigma,"  he  went  on;  "but  I  begin 
to  have  an  inkling  of  the  truth." 

Just  at  that  very  instant  Marche-a-Terre  also  discovered  the 
turgotine,  and  pointed  it  out  to  his  comrades.  A  general 
outburst  of  rejoicing  aroused  the  young  lady  from  her  musings. 
She  came  forward  and  saw  the  coach  as  it  sped  up  the  hillside 
with  luckless  haste.  The  miserable  turgotine  reached  the 
plateau  almost  immediately;  and  the  Chouans,  who  had 
hidden  themselves,  once  more  rushed  out  upon  their  prey  in 


56  THE   CHOUANS. 

greedy  haste.  The  dumb  traveler  slipped  down  into  the 
bottom  of  the  coach,  and  cowered  there,  trying  to  look  like  a 
package. 

"Well,"  cried  Coupiau  from  the  box,  "so  you  have  smelt 
out  the  patriot  there !  He  has  money  about  him — a  bag  full 
of  gold  ;  "  and  as  he  spoke,  he  pointed  out  the  small  farmer, 
only  to  find  that  the  Chouans  hailed  his  remarks  with  a 
general  roar  of  laughter  and  shouts  of  "  Pille-Miche  !  Pille- 
Miche  !  Pille-Miche  !  "  In  the  midst  of  the  hilarity,  which 
Pille-Miche  himself  echoed,  Coupiau  came  down  from  the 
box  in  confusion.  The  famous  Cibot,  alias  Pille-Miche,  aided 
his  companion  to  alight,  and  a  respectful  murmur  arose. 

"It  is  the  Abbe  Gudin,"  cried  several  voices. 

All  hats  went  off  at  the  name,  and  the  Chouans  knelt  to 
ask  for  his  blessing,  which  was  gravely  given. 

Then  the  Abbe  clapped  Pille-Miche  on  the  shoulder. 

"  He  would  deceive  St.  Peter  himself,  and  steal  away  the 
keys  of  Paradise  !  "  he  cried.  "  But  for  him  the  Blues  would 
have  stopped  us ; "  and,  seeing  the  young  lady,  he  spoke 
with  her  a  few  paces  aside.  Marche-a-Terre  adroitly  raised 
the  seat  of  the  coach,  and  with  ferocious  glee  extracted  a  bag 
which,  from  its  shape,  evidently  contained  rouleaux  of  gold. 
He  was  not  long  about  dividing  the  spoil.  There  were  no 
disputes,  for  each  Chouan  received  his  exact  share.  Lastly, 
he  went  up  to  the  lady  and  the  priest,  and  presented  them 
with  about  six  thousand  francs. 

"  Can  I  take  this  with  a  clear  conscience,  Monsieur  Gudin  ?". 
the  lady  asked,  feeling  within  her  the  need  of  a  sanction. 

"  Why  not,  madame  ?  In  former  times,  did  not  the  Church 
approve  the  confiscation  of  Protestant  goods?  We  have 
stronger  reasons  for  despoiling  these  revolutionaries,  who  deny 
God,  plunder  churches,  and  persecute  religion?  Thereupon 
the  Abb6  added  example  to  precept,  and  took  without  scruple 
the  tenth — in  new  coin — which  Marche-a-Terre  offered  him. 

"  However,"  he  added,  "  I  can  now  dedicate  all  I  have  to 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  57 

the  service  of  God  and  the  King.  My  nephew  has  cast  in  his 
lot  with  the  Blues." 

Coupiau  was  lamenting,  and  bewailed  himself  for  a  ruined 
man. 

"Come  along  with  us,"  said  Marche-a-Terre ;  "you  shall 
have  your  share." 

"  Every  one  will  say  that  I  set  out  to  be  robbed,  if  I  go 
back  again,  and  there  are  no  traces  of  violence." 

"Oh,  if  that  is  all  you  want,"  said  Marche-a-Terre.  He 
made  a  sign,  and  a  volley  of  musketry  riddled  the  turgotine. 
The  old  coach  gave  a  cry  so  piteous  at  this  salute,  that  the 
Chouans,  naturally  superstitious,  fell  back  in  alarm,  save 
Marche-a-Terre,  who  had  seen  the  pale  face  of  the  mute 
traveler  as  it  rose  and  fell  inside. 

"There  is  one  more  fowl  yet  in  your  coop,"  Marche-a- 
Terre  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Coupiau.  Pille-Miche,  who  saw 
what  this' meant,  winked  significantly. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  driver;  "but  I  made  it  a  condition 
when  I  enlisted  with  you  that  I  was  to  take  this  worthy  man 
safe  and  sound  to  Foug^res.  I  promised  that  in  the  name  of 
the  Saint  of  Auray  !  " 

"Who  is  he?  "  asked  Pille-Miche. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  that,"  said  Coupiau. 

"Let  him  alone!"  said  Marche-a-Terre,  nudging  Pille- 
Miche  with  his  elbow.  "  He  swore  by  the  holy  Virgin  of 
Auray,  and  a  promise  is  a  promise.  But  don't  be  in  too  great 
hurry  down  the  hill,"  the  Chouan  went  on,  addressing  Coupiau ; 
"we  will  catch  you  up  for  reasons  of  our  own.  I  want  to 
see  the  muzzle  of  that  passenger  of  yours,  and  then  we  will 
give  him  a  passport." 

A  horse  was  heard  approaching  La  Pelerine  at  full  gallop. 
In  a  moment  the  young  leader  returned,  and  the  lady  promptly 
tried  to  conceal  her  hand  with  the  bag  in  it. 

"You  need  not  scruple  to  keep  that  money,"  he  said, 
draw^ing  the  lady's  arm  forward.     "Here  is  a  letter  for  you 


58  THE   CHOUANS. 

among  those  that  awaited  me  at  the  Vivetiere;  it  is  from 
your  mother." 

He  looked  from  the  coach,  which  now  descended  the  hill, 
to  the  Chouans,  and  added,  "  In  spite  of  my  haste,  I  am  too 
late.     Heaven  send  that  my  fears  are  ill-grounded  !  " 

"  That  is  my  poor  mother's  money !  "  cried  the  lady,  when 
she  had  broken  the  seal  of  the  letter  and  read  the  first  few 
lines. 

Sounds  of  smothered  laughter  came  from  the  woods. 

The  young  man  himself  could  not  help  smiling  at  sight  of 
the  lady  with  a  share  of  the  plunder  of  her  own  property  in 
her  hands.     She  began  to  laugh  herself. 

"Well,  I  escape  without  blame  for  once.  Marquis,"  she 
said.     "  Heaven  be  praised  !  " 

"So  you  take  all  things  with  alight  heart,  even  remorse?" 
the  young  man  asked ;  but  she  flushed  up  with  such  evident 
contrition  that  he  relented.  The  Abb6  politely  handed  to 
her  the  tenth  he  had  just  received  with  as  good  a  face  as  he 
could  put  upon  it,  and  followed  the  young  leader,  who  was 
returning  by  the  way  he  had  come.  The  young  lady  waited 
behind  for  a  moment,  and  beckoned  to  Marche-a-Terre. 

"You  must  go  over  towards  Mortagne,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  know  that  the  Blues  must  be  continually  transmit- 
ting large  sums  of  money  to  Alengon  for  the  prosecution  of 
the  war.  I  give  up  to  your  comrades  the  money  I  have  lost 
to-day;  but  I  shall  expect  them  to  make  it  up  to  me.  And 
before  all  things,  the  Gars  is  not  to  know  the  reason  for  this  ex- 
pedition ;  but  if  anything  should  go  wrong,  I  will  pacify  him." 

"Madame,"  the  Marquis  began,  as  she  sat  behind  him 
en  croupe,  having  made  over  her  horse  to  the  Abbe,"  our 
friends  in  Paris  are  writing  to  tell  us  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout, 
for  the  Republic  means  to  take  us  with  craft  and  guile." 

"Well,  they  might  do  worse,"  she  replied;  "it  is  not  at 
all  a  bad  idea  of  theirs.  I  shall  take  part  now  in  the  war, 
and  meet  the  enemy  on  my  own  ground." 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  59 

"  Faith,  yes,"  said  the  Marquis.  "Pichegru  warns  me  to 
be  on  my  guard  as  to  friendships  of  every  kind.  The  Repub- 
lic does  me  the  honor  to  consider  me  more  formidable  than 
all  the  Vendeans  put  together,  and  thinks  to  get  me  into  its 
grasp  by  working  on  my  weaknesses." 

"Are  you  going  to  suspect  w<r/"  she  asked,  tapping  his 
breast  with  the  hand  by  which  she  held  him  close  to  her. 

"  Would  you  be  there,  in  my  heart,  if  I  could  ?  "  he  said, 
and  turned  to  receive  a  kiss  on  his  forehead. 

"  Then  we  are  likely  to  run  more  risks  from  Fouche's  police 
than  from  regular  troops  or  from  Counter-Chouans,"  was  the 
Abbe's  comment. 

"  Your  reverence  is  quite  right." 

"Ah,  ha!  "  the  lady  exclaimed,  "  so  Fouch6  is  going  to 
send  women  against  you?  I  am  ready  for  them,"  she  added 
after  a  brief  pause,  with  a  deeper  note  in  her  voice. 

Meantime,  some  four  gunshots  from  the  lonely  plateau 
which  the  leaders  had  just  quitted,  a  drama  was  being  enacted 
of  a  kind  to  be  common  enough  on  the  highways  for  some 
time.  Beyond  the  little  village  of  La  Pelerine,  Pille-Miche 
and  Marche-a-Terre  had  again  stopped  the  coach  in  a  place 
where  the  road  widened  out.  Coupiau,  after  a  feeble  resist- 
ance, came  down  from  the  box.  The  taciturn  traveler, 
dragged  from  his  hiding-place  by  the  two  Chouans,  found 
himself  on  his  knees  in  a  bush  of  broom. 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Marche-a-Terre  in  threatening 
tones.  The  traveler  did  not  answer  at  all  till  Pille-Miche 
recommenced  his  examination  with  a  blow  from  the  butt  end 
of  his  musket.  Then,  with  a  glance  at  Coupiau,  the  man 
spoke — 

"I  am  Jacques  Pinaud,  a  poor  linen-draper."  Coupiau 
seemed  to  think  that  he  did  not  break  his  word  by  shaking  his 
head.  Pille-Miche  acted  on  the  hint,  and  pointed  his  musket 
at  the  traveler,  while  Marche-a-Terre  deliberately  uttered  this 
terrible  ultimatum — 


60  THE   CHOUANS. 

**  You  are  a  great  deal  too  fat  to  know  the  pinch  of  poverty. 
If  we  have  to  ask  you  for  your  name  again,  here  is  my  friend 
Pille-Miche  with  his  musket,  ready  to  earn  the  esteem  and 
gratitude  of  your  heirs.  Now,  who  are  you?"  he  asked, 
after  a  pause. 

"I  am  d'Orgemont  of  Fougdres." 

"  Ha !  "  cried  the  two  Chouans. 

"/did  not  betray  you.  Monsieur  d'Orgemont,"  said 
Coupiau.  "  The  holy  Virgin  is  my  witness  that  I  did  my 
best  to  protect  you." 

"Since  you  are  Monsieur  d'Orgemont  of  Foug^res,"  re- 
plied Marche-a-Terre  with  a  fine  affectation  of  respect,  "  of 
course  we  must  let  you  go  in  peace.  But  still,  as  you  are 
neither  good  Chouan  nor  genuine  Blue  (for  you  it  was  who 
bought  the  property  of  the  Abbey  of  Juvigny),  you  are 
going  to  pay  us  three  hundred  crowns  " — here  he  seemed 
to  count  the  number  of  the  party — and  went  on,  "of  six 
francs  each.     Neutrality  is  cheap  at  the  price." 

"Three  hundred  crowns  of  six  francs  each  !  "  echoed  the 
unlucky  banker  in  chorus  with  Coupiau  and  Pille-Miche,  each 
one  with  a  different  intonation. 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  am  a  ruined  man,"  he  cried.  "  This  devil 
of  a  Republic  taxes  us  up  to  the  hilt,  and  this  forced  loan  of  a 
hundred  millions  has  drained  me  dry." 

"  How  much  did  your  Republic  want  of  you?" 

"  A  thousand  crowns,  my  dear  sir,"  groaned  the  banker, 
thinking  to  be  let  off  more  easily. 

"  If  your  Republic  wrings  forced  loans  out  of  you  to  that 
tune,  you  ought  to  throw  in  your  lot  with  us.  Our  govern- 
ment will  cost  you  less.  Three  hundred  crowns — isn't  your 
skin  worth  that  ?  " 

"  Where  am  I  to  find  them  ?  " 

"  In  your  strong  box,"  said  Pille-Miche.  "  And'no  clipped 
coins,  mind  you,  or  the  fire  shall  nibble  your  finger  ends  !  " 

"  Where  am  I  to  pay  them  over  ?  " 


THE   AMBUSCADE.  61 

"  Your  country-liouse  at  Fougeres  is  not  very  far  from  the 
farm  of  Gibarry,  where  lives  my  cousin  Galope-Chopine, 
otherwise  big  Cibot.  You  will  make  them  over  to  him," 
said  Pille-Miche. 

"It  is  not  business,"  urged  d'Orgemont. 

"  What  is  that  to  us  ?  "  said  Marche-a-Terre.  "  Mind  this, 
if  the  money  isn't  paid  to  Galope-Chopine  within  a  fortnight, 
we  will  pay  you  a  call,  and  that  will  cure  the  gout  in  your  feet, 
if  it  happens  to  trouble  you.  As  for  you,  Coupiau,"  he 
turned  to  the  driver,  "  your  name  in  future  will  be  Mene-a- 
Bien." 

With  that  the  two  Chouans  departed.  The  traveler  re- 
turned to  the  coach,  and,  with  the  help  of  Coupiau's  whip, 
they  bowled  rapidly  along  to  Fougeres. 

**If  you  had  carried  arms,"  Coupiau  began,  "we  might 
have  defended  ourselves  better." 

**  Simpleton  !  "  replied  the  banker ;  "  I  have  ten  thousand 
francs  there,"  and  he  held  out  his  great  shoes.  "  How  is  one 
to  show  fight  with  a  large  sum  like  that  about  one  ?  " 

Mene-a-Bien  scratched  his  ear  and  sent  a  glance  behind 
him,  but  his  new  friends  were  quite  out  of  sight. 

At  Ernee  Hulot  and  his  men  halted  awhile  to  leave  the 
wounded  in  the  hospital  in  the  little  town,  and  finally  arrived 
at  Mayenne  without  any  further  annoyance.  The  next  day 
put  an  end  to  the  commandant's  doubts  as  to  the  fate  of  the 
stage-coach,  for  everybody  knew  how  it  had  been  stopped  and 
plundered. 

A  few  days  after,  the  authorities  directed  upon  Mayenne 
enough  patriot  conscripts  to  fill  the  gaps  in  Hulot's  demi- 
brigade.  Very  soon  one  disquieting  rumor  followed  another 
concerning  the  insurrection.  There  was  complete  revolt  at 
all  the  points  which  had  been  centres  of  rebellion  for  Chouans 
and  Vendeans  in  the  late  war.  In  Brittany  the  Royalists  had 
made  themselves  masters  of  Pontorson,  thus  securing  their 
communications  with  the  sea.     The  little  town  of  Saint  James 


62  THE   C HO  VANS. 

between  Pontorson  and  Fougeres  had  been  taken  by  them,  and 
it  appeared  that  they  meant  to  make  it  their  temporary  head- 
quarters, their  central  magazine,  and  basis  of  operations. 
Thence  they  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  Normandy  and 
Morbihan  in  security.  The  Royalists  of  the  three  provinces 
were  brought  into  concerted  action  by  subaltern  officers  dis- 
persed throughout  the  country,  who  recruited  partisans  for  the 
monarchy,  and  gave  unity  to  their  methods.  Exactly  similar 
reports  came  from  La  Vendue,  where  conspiracy  was  rife  in 
the  country  under  the  guidance  of  four  well-known  leaders — 
the  Counts  of  Fontaine,  Chatillon,  and  Suzannet,  and  the 
Abb6  Vernal.  In  Orne  their  correspondents  were  said  to  be 
the  Chevalier  de  Valois,  the  Marquis  of  Escrignon,  and  the 
Troisvilles.  The  real  head  and  centre  of  the  vast  and  formid- 
able plan  of  operations,  that  gradually  became  manifest,  was 
the  Gars,  for  so  the  Chouans  had  dubbed  the  Marquis  of 
Montauran  since  his  arrival  among  them. 

Hulot's  dispatches  to  his  government  were  found  to  be  ac- 
curate on  all  heads.  The  authority  of  the  newly-arrived 
commander  had  been  recognized  at  once.  The  Marquis  had 
even  sufficient  ascendency  over  the  Chouans  to  make  them 
understand  the  real  aim  of  the  war,  and  to  persuade  them 
that  the  excesses  of  which  they  had  formerly  been  guilty, 
sullied  the  generous  cause  which  they  had  embraced.  The 
cool  courage,  splendid  audacity,  resource,  and  ability  of  the 
young  noble  were  reviving  the  hopes  of  the  foes  of  the  Re- 
public, and  had  excited  the  sombre  enthusiasm  of  the  west  to 
such  a  pitch  that  even  the  most  lukewarm  were  ready  to  take 
part  in  a  bold  stroke  for  the  fallen  monarchy.  Hulot's  re- 
peated reports  and  appeals  received  no  reply  from  Paris ;  some 
fresh  revolutionary  crisis,  no  doubt,  caused  the  astonishing 
silence. 

"  Are  appeals  to  the  government  going  to  be  treated  like  a 
creditor's  duns? "  said  the  old  chief  to  his  friends.  "  Are  all 
our  petitions  shoved  out  of  sight?" 


THE  AMBUSCADE'  63 

But  before  long  news  began  to  spread  of  the  magical  return 
of  General  Bonaparte,  and  the  events  of  the  eighteenth  of 
Brumaire.  Then  the  commanders  in  the  west  began  to  under- 
stand the  silence  of  the  ministers,  while  they  grew  impatient 
of  the  heavy  responsibilities  that  weighed  upon  them,  and 
eager  to  hear  what  steps  the  new  government  meant  to  take. 
Great  was  the  joy  in  the  army  when  it  became  known  that 
General  Bonaparte  had  been  nominated  First  Consul  of  the 
Republic,  and  for  the  first  time  they  saw  a  man  of  their  own 
at  the  head  of  affairs.  France  had  made  an  idol  of  the  young 
general,  and  trembled  with  hope.  The  capital,  grown  weary 
of  gloom,  gave  itself  up  to  festivities  long  discontinued.  The 
first  acts  of  the  consulate  abated  these  hopes  no  whit,  and 
gave  liberty  no  qualms.  The  First  Consul  issued  a  proclama- 
tion to  the  dwellers  in  the  west.  Bonaparte  had,  one  might 
almost  say,  invented  the  appeals  to  the  massess  which  pro- 
duced such  enormous  effect  in  those  days  of  miracles  and 
patriotism,  A  prophetic  voice  it  was  which  filled  the  world, 
for  victory  had  never  yet  failed  to  follow  any  proclamation 
of  his. 

"  Inhabitants ! 

**  For  the  second  time  an  unnatural  war  has  been  kindled 
in  the  departments  of  the  west. 

"The  authors  of  these  troubles  are  traitors  in  the  pay  of 
England,  or  marauders  who  hope  to  secure  their  own  ends, 
and  to  enjoy  immunity  amid  civil  discords. 

"  To  such  men  as  these  the  government  owes  neither  con- 
sideration nor  an  explanation  of  its  principles. 

"  But  there  are  other  citizens,  dear  to  their  country,  who 
have  been  seduced  by  their  artifices;  to  these  citizens  enlight- 
enment and  knowledge  of  the  truth  is  due. 

"  Unjust  laws  have  been  promulgated  and  carried  into  effect. 
The  security  of  citizens  and  their  right  to  liberty  of  con- 
science have  been  infringed  by  arbitrary  measures ;  citizens 
have  suffered  everywhere  from  mistaken  entries  on  the  list  of 


«4  THE   CHOUANS. 

emigrants,  great  principles  of  social  order  have  been  violated. 
The  consuls  declare  that  liberty  of  worship  being  guar- 
anteed by  the  constitution,  the  law  of  the  nth  Prairial  Year 
III.,  by  which  citizens  are  allowed  the  use  of  buildings  erected 
for  religious  worship,  shall  now  be  carried  into  effect. 

"The  government  will  pardon  previous  offences;  it  will 
extend  mercy  and  absolute  and  complete  indemnity  to  the 
repentant ;  but  it  will  strike  down  any  who  shall  dare,  after 
this  declaration,  to  resist  the  national  sovereignty." 

"Well,"  said  Hulot,  after  a  public  reading  of  the  consular 
manifesto,  "could  anything  be  more  paternal?  But  for  all 
that,  you  will  see  that  not  a  single  Royalist  brigand  will  change 
his  opinion." 

The  commandant  was  right.  The  proclamation  only  con- 
firmed each  one  in  his  adherence  to  his  own  side.  Reinforce- 
ments for  Hulot  and  his  colleagues  arrived  a  few  days  later. 
They  were  notified  by  the  new  minister  of  war  that  General 
Brune  was  about  to  assume  command  in  the  west ;  but  in  the 
meanwhile  Hulot,  as  an  officer  known  to  be  experienced,  was 
intrusted  with  the  departments  of  the  Orne  and  Mayenne. 
Every  government  department  showed  unheard-of  energy. 
A  circular  from  the  minister  of  war  and  the  minister-general 
of  police  gave  out  that  active  efforts  were  to  be  made  through 
the  officers  in  command  to  stifle  the  insurrection  "  at  its  place 
of  origin."  But  by  this  time  the  Ghouans  and  Vendeans, 
profiting  by  the  inaction  of  the  Republic,  had  aroused  the 
whole  country  and  made  themselves  masters  of  it.  So  a  new 
consular  proclamation  had  to  be  issued. 

This  time  the  General  spoke  to  his  troops — 

"  Soldiers,  all  who  now  remain  in  the  west  are  marauders 
or  emigrants  in  the  pay  of  England. 

"  The  army  numbers  more  than  sixty  thousand  heroes;  let 
me  learn  soon  that  the  rebel  leaders  exist  no  longer.  Glory 
is  only  to  be  had  at  the  price  of  fatigue ;  who  would  not 
acquire  it  if  it  were  to  be  gained  by  stopping  in  town  quarters  ? 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  65 

"  Soldiers,  no  matter  what  your  rank  in  the  array,  the  grati- 
tude of  the  nation  awaits  you.  To  be  worthy  of  that  gratitude 
you  must  brave  the  inclemency  of  the  seasons,  frost  and  snow, 
and  the  bitter  cold  of  winter  nights;  you  must  surprise  your 
enemies  at  daybreak  and  destroy  those  wretches  who  disgrace 
the  name  of  Frenchmen. 

"  Let  the  campaign  be  short  and  sharp ;  show  no  mercy 
to  the  marauders,  and  preserve  strict  discipline  among  your- 
selves. 

"National  Guards,  add  your  efforts  to  those  of  the  troops 
of  the  line. 

**  If  you  know  of  any  partisans  of  the  bandits  among  your- 
selves, arrest  them  !  Let  them  nowhere  find  a  refuge  from 
the  soldier  who  pursues  them ;  and  should  traitors  dare  to 
receive  and  protect  them,  let  both  alike  perish  !  " 

"  What  a  fellow,"  cried  Hulot ;  "  it  is  just  as  it  used  to  be 
in  Italy ;  first  he  rings  the  bells  for  mass,  and  then  he  goes 
and  says  it.     Isn't  that  plain  speaking?  " 

"Yes,  but  he  speaks  for  himself  and  in  his  own  name," 
said  Gerard,  who  began  to  feel  some  concern  for  the  results  of 
the  eighteenth  of  Brumaire. 

"  Eh !  Sainte  gueriie,  what  does  it  matter !  Isn't  he  a 
soldier?"  cried  Merle. 

A  few  paces  away  some  soldiers  had  made  a  group  about 
the  placard  on  the  wall.  As  no  one  among  them  could  read, 
they  eyed  it,  some  with  curiosity,  others  with  indifference, 
while  one  or  two  looked  out  for  some  passing  citizen  who 
should  appear  scholar  enough  to  decipher  it. 

"What  does  that  scrap  of  paper  mean,  now,  Clef-des- 
Coeurs?"  asked  Beau-Pied,  banteringly. 

"It  is  quite  easy  to  guess,"  said  Clef-des-Cceurs.  Every- 
body looked  up  at  these  words  for  the  usual  comedy  to  begin 
between  the  two  comrades. 

"  Now  look  here,"  went  on  Clef-des-Coeurs,  pointing  to  a 
rough  vignette  at  the  head  of  the  proclamation,  where  a  pair 
5 


66  THE   CHOUANS. 

of  compasses  had  in  the  past  few  days  replaced  the  plumb-line 
level  of  1793-  "That  means  that  we  soldiers  will  have  to 
step  out.  That's  why  the  compasses  are  open ;  it's  an  emblem." 

'*  No,  my  boy,  you  can't  come  the  scholar  over  us.  That 
thing  is  called  a  problem.  I  served  once  in  the  artillery," 
he  added,  "  and  that  was  what  my  officers  fairly  lived  on." 

"It's  an  emblem." 

"A  problem." 

"  Let  us  lay  a  bet  on  it." 

"What?" 

**  Will  you  stake  your  German  pipe?  " 

"Done!" 

"  No  offence  to  you,  sir  !  "  said  Clef-des-Coeurs  to  G6rard ; 
"  but  isn't  that  an  emblem  and  not  a  problem  ?  " 

"It  is  both  the  one  and  the  other,"  said  G6rard  gravely. 
He  was  musing  as  he  prepared  to  follow  Hulot  and  Merle. 

"The  adjutant  is  laughing  at  us,"  said  Beau-Pied;  "that 
paper  says  that  our  general  in  Italy  has  been  made  consul, 
which  is  a  fine  promotion,  and  we  are  all  to  have  new  caps 
and  shoes." 


II 

A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHE'S. 

One  morning  towards  the  end  of  the  month  of  Brumaire, 
after  an  order  from  the  government  had  concentrated  Hulot's 
troops  upon  Mayenne,  that  officer  was  engaged  in  drilling  his 
demi-brigade.  An  express  from  Alengon  arrived  with  dis- 
patches, which  he  read,  while  intense  annoyance  expressed 
itself  in  his  face. 

"  Come,  forward  !  "  he  cried  peevishly,  stuffing  the  papers 
into  his  hat.  "Two  companies  are  to  set  out  with  me  to 
march  upon  Mortagne.  The  Chouans  are  there.  You  shall 
accompany  me,"  he  said,  turning  to  Merle  and  Gerard. 
"  May  I  be  ennobled  if  I  understand  a  word  of  this.  I  may- 
be a  fool,  but  no  matter,  forward  !    There  is  no  time  to  lose." 

"  What  sort  of  fearful  fowl  could  come  out  of  that  game 
bag?"  asked  Merle,  kicking  the  fallen  envelope. 

"  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  /  They  are  making  fools  of  us,  that 
is  all." 

Whenever  this  expression,  explained  above,  escaped  the 
commandant,  it  always  meant  a  storm  of  some  sort.  The 
modulations  of  his  voice  when  he  uttered  this  phrase  indicated 
to  the  demi-brigade,  like  the  degrees  of  a  thermometer,  the 
amount  of  patience  left  in  their  chief;  and  the  outspoken  old 
soldier  made  this  knowledge  so  easy  that  the  most  mischiev- 
ous drummer  could  take  his  measure,  by  remarking  his  shades 
of  manner  in  puckering  up  his  cheek  and  winking.  This 
time  the  suppressed  anger  with  which  he  brought  out  the 
word  silenced  his  friends  and  made  them  circumspect.  The 
pock-marks  on  his  martial  countenance  seemed  deeper  and 
darker  than  usual.  As  he  put  on  his  three-cornered  hat,  his 
large  plaited  queue  had  slipped  round  upon   one  shoulder. 

(67) 


68  THE   CHOUANS. 

Hulot  pushed  it  back  so  violently  that  the  little  curls  were 
unsettled.  However,  as  he  remained  motionless,  with  his 
arms  locked  across  his  chest  and  his  moustache  a-bristle  with 
rage,  Gerard  ventured  to  ask — 

*'  Must  we  set  out  at  once  ?  " 

**  Yes,  if  the  cartridge-boxes  are  filled,"  he  growled  out. 

"They  are  all  full." 

"Shoulder  arms!  left  file!  forward,  march!"  ordered 
G6rard,  at  a  sign  from   Hulot. 

The  drums  headed  the  two  companies  chosen  by  Gerard. 
The  commandant,  plunged  in  his  own  thoughts,  seemed  to 
rouse  himself  at  the  sound,  and  went  out  of  the  town  between 
his  two  friends  without  a  word  to  either.  Now  and  again 
Merle  and  Gerard  looked  at  each  other  as  if  to  say,  "How 
long  is  he  going  to  be  sulky  with  us?"  and  as  they  went  they 
furtively  glanced  at  Hulot,  who  muttered  chance  words  be- 
tween his  teeth. 

Something  very  like  an  oath  at  times  reached  the  soldiers' 
ears,  but  neither  dared  to  say  a  word,  for  on  occasion  all 
could  preserve  the  severe  discipline  to  which  Bonaparte  had 
accustomed  his  troops  in  Italy.  Hulot  and  most  of  his  men 
represented  all  that  was  left  of  the  famous  battalions  who 
surrendered  at  Mayence,  on  condition  that  they  should  not 
be  employed  upon  the  frontiers ;  and  the  army  had  nick- 
named them  the  Mayencais.  It  would  have  been  difficult  to 
find  officers  and  men  who  understood  each  other  better. 

The  earliest  hours  of  the  next  morning  found  Hulot  and 
his  friends  a  league  beyond  Alengon  on  the  Mortagne  side,  on 
a  road  through  the  meadows  beside  the  Sarthe.  On  the  left 
lies  stretches  of  picturesque  lowland  ;  while  on  the  right  the 
dark  woods,  part  of  the  great  forest  of  Menil-Broust,  form  a 
set-off,  to  borrow  a  word  from  the  studio,  to  the  lovely  views 
of  the  river.  The  clearings  of  the  ditches  on  either  hand, 
which  are  constantly  thrown  up  in  a  mound  on  their  further 
sides,  form  high  banks,  on  the  top  of  which  furze  bushes  grow, 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCH^'S.  69 

ajoncs,  as  they  call  them  in  the  west.  These  dense  bushes 
furnished  excellent  winter  fodder  for  horses  and  cattle,  but  so 
long  as  they  remained  uncut  the  dark-green  clumps  served 
as  hiding-places  for  Chouans.  These  banks  and  furze 
bushes,  signs  which  tell  the  traveler  that  he  is  nearing 
Brittany,  made  this  part  of  the  journey  in  those  days  as  dan- 
gerous as  it  was  beautiful. 

The  dangers  involved  by  a  journey  from  Mortagne  to 
Alengon,  and  from  Alengon  to  Mayenne,  had  caused  Hulot's 
departure,  and  now  the  secret  of  his  anger  finally  escaped  him. 
He  was  escorting  an  old  mail-coach  drawn  by  post-horses, 
which  the  weariness  of  the  soldiers  compelled  to  move  at  a 
foot  pace.  The  companies  of  Blues,  belonging  to  the  garri- 
son of  Mortagne,  were  visible  as  black  dots  in  the  distance  on 
their  way  back  thither  ;  they  had  accompanied  this  shocking 
conveyance  within  their  prescribed  limits,  and  here  Hulot 
must  succeed  them  in  the  service,  a  "  patriotic  bore,"  as  the 
soldiers  not  unjustly  called  it.  One  of  the  old  Republican's 
companies  took  up  its  position  a  little  in  front,  and  the  other 
a  little  behind  the  caleche ;  and  Hulot,  who  found  himself 
between  Merle  and  Gerard,  at  an  equal  distance  from  the 
vehicle  and  the  vanguard,  suddenly  said — 

"J////(f  Tonnerres  !  would  you  believe  that  the  general  has 
drafted  us  out  of  Mayenne  to  escort  a  couple  of  petticoats  in 
this  old  fourgon  ?  " 

**  But  not  so  long  since,  commandant,"  said  Gerard,  "  when 
we  took  up  our  position,  you  made  your  bow  to  the  citoyennes 
with  a  good  enough  grace." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  the  worst  of  it !  Don't  these  dandies  in  Paris 
require  us  to  pay  the  greatest  attention  to  their  damned 
females  ?  How  can  they  bring  dishonor  on  good  and  brave 
patriots  like  us,  by  setting  us  to  dangle  after  a  petticoat.  I  run 
straight  myself,  and  don't  like  crooked  ways  in  others.  When 
I  saw  that  Danton  and  Barras  had  mistresses,  I  used  to"  say, 
*  Citizens,  when  the  Republic  called  on  you  to  govern,  it  was  not 


70  THE   CHOUANS. 

that  you  might  play  the  same  games  as  the  old  regime.^  You 
will  say  now  that  women — Oh,  one  must  have  women,  that 
is  right  enough.  Brave  men  must  have  women,  look  you, 
and  good  women  too.  But  when  things  grow  serious,  prat- 
tling ought  to  stop.  Why  did  we  sweep  the  old  abuses  away 
if  patriots  are  to  begin  them  again  ?  Look  at  the  First  Consul 
now,  that  is  a  man  for  you ;  no  women,  always  at  work.  I 
would  wager  my  left  moustache  he  knows  nothing  of  this 
foolish  business." 

"Really,  commandant,"  laughed  Merle,  "  I  have  seen  the 
tip  of  the  nose  of  the  young  lady  there  hidden  on  the  back 
seat,  and  I  am  sure  that  no  one  need  be  blamed  for  feeling, 
as  I  do,  a  sort  of  hankering  to  take  a  turn  round  the  coach 
and  have  a  scrap  of  conversation  with  the  ladies. ' ' 

"Look  out.  Merle!"  said  Gerard;  "there's  a  citizen 
along  with  the  pretty  birds  quite  sharp  enough  to  catch  you." 

"Who?  The /«^r<?y<a'<5/(?,*  whose  little  eyes  keep  dodging 
about  from  one  side  of  the  road  to  the  other,  as  if  he  saw 
Chouans  everywhere  ?  That  dandy,  whose  legs  you  can 
scarcely  see,  and  whose  head,  as  soon  as  his  horses'  legs  are 
hidden  behind  the  carriage,  sticks  up  like  a  duck's  from  a 
pie  ?  If  that  nincompoop  hinders  me  from  stroking  the 
pretty  white  throat " 

"  Duck  and  white  throat  !  My  poor  Merle,  thy  fancy  has 
taken  wings  with  a  vengeance  !  Don't  be  too  sure  of  the 
duck.  His  green  eyes  are  as  treacherous  as  a  viper's,  and  as 
shrewd  as  a  woman's  when  she  pardons  her  husband.  I  would 
sooner  trust  a  Chouan  than  one  of  these  lawyers  with  a  face 
like  a  decanter  of  lemonade." 

"Bah!"  cried  Merle  gaily.  "With  the  commandant's 
leave  I  shall  risk  it.  That  girl  has  eyes  that  shine  like  stars ; 
one  might  run  all  hazards  for  a  sight  of  them." 

"  He  is  smitten  !  "  said  Gerard  to  the  commandant ;  "he 
is  raving  already." 

^  *  Corresponding  to  our  term  "  dude." 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCH&'S.  71 

Hulot  made  his  grimace,  shrugged  his  shoulder,  and  said — 

"  I  advise  him  to  smell  his  soup  before  he  takes  it." 

"  Honest  Merle,  what  spirits  he  has!  "  said  Gerard,  judg- 
ing by  the  slackening  of  the  other's  pace  that  he  meant  to 
allow  the  coach  to  overtake  him.  **  He  is  the  only  man  that 
can  laugh  when  a  comrade  dies  without  being  thought 
heartless. ' ' 

"  He  is  a  French  soldier  every  inch  of  him,"  said  Hulot 
gravely. 

"Only  look  at  him,  pulling  his  epaulettes  over  his  shoulders, 
to  show  that  he  is  a  captain,"  cried  Gerard,  laughing;  "as 
if  his  rank  would  do  anything  for  him  there." 

There  were,  in  fact,  two  women  in  the  vehicle  towards 
which  the  officer  turned  ;  one  seemed  to  be  the  mistress,  the 
■other  her  maid. 

"  That  sort  of  woman  always  goes  about  in  pairs,"  said 
Hulot. 

A  thin,  dried-up  little  man  hovered  sometimes  before, 
sometimes  behind  the  carriage ;  but  though  he  seemed  to 
accompany  the  two  privileged  travelers,  no  one  had  yet  seen 
either  of  them  speak  a  word  to  him.  This  silence,  whether 
respectful  or  contemptuous,  the  numerous  trunks  and  boxes 
belonging  to  the  "princess,"  as  he  called  her,  everything, 
down  to  the  costume  of  her  attendant  cavalier,  helped  to  stir 
Hulot's  bile. 

The  stranger's  dress  was  an  exact  picture  of  the  fashions  of 
the  time — of  the  incroyable'^  at  an  almost  burlesque  pitch. 
Imagine  a  man  muffled  up  in  a  coat  with  front  so  short  that 
five  or  six  inches  of  waistcoat  were  left  on  view,  and  coat-tails 
so  long  behind  that  they  resembled  the  tail  of  the  cod-fish, 
after  which  they  were  named.  Avast  cravat  wound  round 
his  throat  in  such  numerous  folds,  that  his  little  head  issuing 
from  the  labyrinth  of  muslin  almost  justified  Captain  Merle's 
gastronomical  simile.  The  stranger  wore  tight-fitting  breeches 
♦The  "dude." 


72  THE   CHOUANS. 

and  boots  a  la  Suwarrow.  A  huge  blue  and  white  cameo 
served  as  a  shirt-pin,  a  gold  watch-chain  hung  in  two  parallel 
lines  from  his  waist.  His  hair  hung  on  either  side  of  his  face 
in  corkscrew  ringlets,  which  almost  covered  his  forehead ; 
while,  by  way  of  final  adornment,  his  shirt  collar,  like  the 
collar  of  his  coat,  rose  to  such  a  height  that  his  head  seemed 
surrounded  by  it,  like  a  bouquet  in  its  cornet  of  paper. 

Over  and  above  the  contrast  of  these  insignificant  details, 
all  at  odds  among  themselves  and  out  of  harmony,  imagine  a 
ludicrous  strife  of  colors,  yellow  breeches,  red  waistcoat,  and 
cinnamon-brown  coat,  and  you  will  form  a  correct  notion  of 
the  last  decrees  of  elegance,  as  obeyed  by  dandies  in  the  early 
days  of  the  consulate.  This  extravagantly  absurd  toilette 
might  have  been  devised  as  an  ordeal  for  comeliness,  or  to 
demonstrate  that  there  is  nothing  so  ridiculous  but  that  fashion 
can  hallow  it.  The  cavalier  seemed  to  be  about  thirty  years 
of  age,  though  in  reality  he  was  barely  two-and-twenty.  Hard 
living,  or  the  perils  of  the  times,  had  perhaps  brought  this 
about.  In  spite  of  his  fantastic  costume,  there  was  a  certain 
grace  of  manner  revealed  in  his  movements,  which  singled 
him  out  as  a  well-bred  man. 

As  the  captain  reached  the  coach,  the  young  exquisite 
seemed  to  guess  his  intentions,  and  assisted  them  by  checking 
his  own  horse.  Merle's  satirical  eyes  fell  upon  an  impenetrable 
face,  trained,  like  many  another,  by  the  vicissitudes  of  the 
Revolution,  to  hide  all  feeling,  even  of  the  slightest.  The 
moment  that  the  curved  edge  of  a  shabby  cocked  hat  and  a 
captain's  epaulettes  came  within  the  ladies'  ken,  a  voice  of 
angelic  sweetness  asked  him — 

"Would  you  kindly  tell  us  where  we  are  now.  Monsieur 
I'Officier?" 

There  is  an  indescribable  charm  in  such  a  question  by  the 
way,  a  whole  adventure  seems  to  lurk  behind  a  single  word  ; 
and,  furthermore,  if  the  lady,  by  reason  of  weakness  or  lack  of 
experience,  asks  for  some  protecting  aid,  does  not  every  man 


A   NOTION  OF  FOICH^'S.  73 

feel  an  inward  prompting  to  weave  fancies  of  an  impossible 
happiness  for  himself?  So  the  polite  formality  of  her  ques- 
tion, and  her  "Monsieur  I'Officier,"  vaguely  perturbed  the 
captain's  heart.  He  tried  to  distinguish  the  lady's  face,  and 
was  singularly  disappointed ;  a  jealous  veil  hid  her  features, 
he  could  scarcely  see  her  eyes  gleaming  behind  the  gauze, 
like  two  agates  lit  up  by  the  sun. 

"You  are  now  within  a  league  of  Alengon,  madame." 

"Alengon,  already!  "  and  the  stranger  lady  fell  back  in 
the  carriage  without  making  any  further  reply. 

"Alen^on?"  repeated  the  other  woman,  who  seemed  to 
rouse  herself.      "  You  are  going  to  revisit " 

She  looked  at  the  captain  and  checked  herself.  Merle, 
disappointed  in  his  hope  of  a  sight  of  the  fair  stranger,  took  a 
look  at  her  companion.  She  was  a  young  woman  of  some 
twenty-six  years  of  age,  fair-haired,  well-shaped,  with  the 
freshness  of  complexion  and  unfading  brightness  of  color 
which  distinguishes  the  women  of  Valognes,  Bayeux,  and  the 
Alen^on  district.  Sprightliness  there  was  not  in  the  expres- 
sion of  her  blue  eyes,  but  a  certain  steadfastness  and  tender- 
ness. 5he  wore  a  dress  of  some  common  material.  Her  way 
of  wearing  her  hair,  modestly  gathered  up  and  fastened  under 
a  little  cap  such  as  peasant  women  wear  in  the  Pays-de-Caux, 
made  her  face  charming  in  its  simplicity.  There  was  nothing 
of  the  conventional  grace  of  the  salons  in  her  manner,  but  she 
was  not  without  the  dignity  natural  to  a  young  girl  who  could 
contemplate  the  scenes  of  her  past  life  without  finding  any 
matter  for  repentance  in  them. 

At  a  glance,  Merle  recognized  in  her  one  of  those  country 
blossoms  which  have  lost  none  of  their  pure  coloring  and 
rustic  freshness,  although  they  have  been  transplanted  into 
the  hothouses  of  Paris,  where  the  withering  glare  of  many 
rays  of  light  has  been  brought  to  bear  upon  them.  Her  quiet 
looks  and  unaffected  manner  made  it  plain  to  Merle  that  she 
did  not  wish  for  an  audience.     Indeed,  when  he  fell  away. 


74  THE   CHOUANS. 

the  two  women  began  a  conversation  in  tones  so  low  that  the 
murmur  scarcely  reached  his  ears. 

"You  set  out  in  such  haste,"  said  the  young  country- 
woman, "  that  you  had  barely  time  to  dress.  A  pretty  sight 
you  are  !  If  we  are  going  any  further  than  Alengon  you  will 
really  have  to  change  your  dress  there " 

"  Oh,  oh,  Francine  !  "  said  the  other. 

"What  do  you  say?" 

**  This  is  the  third  time  that  you  have  tried  to  learn  where 
we  are  going,  and  why." 

"  Have  I  said  anything  whatever  to  deserve  this  reproof?  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  noticed  your  little  ways.  Simple  and  straight- 
forward as  you  used  to  be,  you  have  learned  a  little  strategy 
of  my  teaching.  You  begin  to  hold  direct  questions  in  ab- 
horrence. Quite  right,  my  child.  Of  all  known  methods 
of  getting  at  a  secret,  that  one,  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  most 
futile." 

"Very  well,"  said  Francine,"  as  one  cannot  hide  anything 
from  you,  admit  at  least,  Marie,  that  your  doings  would  make 
a  saint  inquisitive.  Yesterday  morning  you  had  nothing 
whatever,  to-day  you  have  gold  in  plenty.  At  Mortagne  they 
assign  the  mail-coach  to  you  which  has  just  been  robbed  and 
lost  its  driver ;  you  are  given  an  escort  by  the  government ; 
and  a  man  whom  I  regard  as  your  evil  genius  is  following 
you." 

"Who,   Corentin?" asked  her  companion,  throwing 

emphasis  into  the  two  words  by  separate  intonations  of  her 
voice.  There  was  a  contempt  in  it  that  overflowed  even  into 
the  gesture  by  which  she  indicated  the  horseman.  "  Listen, 
Francine,"  she  went  on,  "do  you  remember  Patriot,  the 
monkey  that  I  taught  to  mimic  Danton,  and  which  amused  us 
so  much?" 

"Yes,  mademoiselle." 

"Were  you  afraid  of  him?" 

"  But  he  was  chained  up." 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHETS.  76 

"And  Corentin  is  muzzled,  my  child." 

"  We  used  to  play  with  Patriot  for  hours  together,  I  know," 
said  Francine,  "but  he  always  played  us  some  ugly  trick  at 
last." 

And  Francine  flung  herself  suddenly  back  in  the  carriage, 
and  taking  her  mistress'  hands,  stroked  them  caressingly,  as 
she  went  on  tenderly — 

"But  you  know  what  is  in  my  thoughts,  Marie,  and  yet 
you  say  notliing  to  me.  After  the  sorrows  which  have  given 
me  so  much  pain  (ah,  how  much  pain  !)  how  should  twenty- 
four  hours  put  you  into  such  spirits,  wild  as  the  moods  when 
you  used  to  talk  of  taking  your  life  ?  What  has  brought  the 
change  about  ?  You  owe  me  some  account  of  yourself.  You 
belong  to  me  rather  than  to  any  other  whatever,  for  you  will 
never  be  better  loved  than  by  me.     Tell  me,  mademoiselle!" 

"  Very  well,  Francine ;  do  you  not  see  all  about  us  the 
cause  of  my  high  spirits?  Look  at  those  clumps  of  trees  over 
there,  yellow  and  sere,  no  one  like  another.  Seen  from  a 
distance,  might  they  not  be  a  bit  of  old  tapestry  in  some 
chateau  ?  See  these  hedges  behind  which  the  Chouans  might 
be  met  with  at  any  moment ;  as  I  look  at  those  tufts  of  gorse 
I  seem  to  see  the  barrels  of  muskets.  I  enjoy  this  succession 
of  perils  about  us.  Every  time  that  there  is  a  deeper  shadow 
across  the  road,  I  think  to  hear  the  reports  of  firearms,  and 
my  heart  beats  with  an  excitement  I  have  never  felt  before. 
It  is  neither  fear  nor  pleasure  that  moves  me  so ;  it  is  a  better 
thing ;  it  is  the  free  play  of  all  that  stirs  within  me ;  it  is  life. 
Why  should  I  not  be  glad  to  have  revived  my  own  existence 
a  little?" 

"Ah!  you  are  telling  me  nothing,  hard  heart!  Holy 
Virgin,  to  whom  will  she  confess  if  not  to  me?  "  said  Francine, 
sadly  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

"Francine,"  her  companion  answered  gravely.  "I  cannot 
tell  you  about  my  enterprise.     It  is  too  horrible  this  time." 

"  But  why  do  evil  with  your  eyes  open  ?  " 


76  THE   CHOUANS. 

"  What  would  you  have  ?  I  detect  myself  thinking  like  a 
woman  of  fifty  and  acting  like  a  girl  of  fifteen.  You  have 
always  been  my  better  self,  my  poor  girl,  but  this  time  I  must 

stifle  my  conscience "  she  paused  as  a  sigh  escaped  her, 

"  and  I  shall  not  succeed.  But  how  can  I  keep  such  a  strict 
confessor  beside  me?"  and  she  softly  tapped  the  other's 
hand. 

"  Ah  !  when  have  I  reproached  you  with  anything?  "  cried 
Francine.  "  Evil  in  you  has  so  much  grace  with  it.  Yes, 
Saint  Anne  of  Auray,  to  whom  I  pray  so  often  for  you,  will 
absolve  you.  And  for  the  rest,  am  I  not  come  beside  you 
now,  though  I  do  not  know  where  your  way  is  taking  you  ? ' ' 

She  kissed  her  mistress'  hands  with  this  outburst. 

"  But  you  can  leave  me,"  said  Marie,  "  if  your  conscience 


"Not  another  word,  madame,"  said  Francine  with  a  little 
sorrowful  twitch  of  the  lips.     "  Oh,  will  you  not  tell  me ' 

"  Nothing  !  "  said  the  young  lady  firmly.  "  Only,  be  sure 
of  this,  that  the  enterprise  is  even  more  odious  to  me  than 
the  smooth-tongued  creature  who  explained  its  nature.  I 
wish  to  be  candid ;  so  to  you  I  confess  that  I  would  not  have 
lent  myself  to  their  wishes  if  I  had  not  seen,  in  this  ignoble 
farce,  some  gleams  of  mingled  love  and  terror  which  attracted 
me.  Then  I  would  not  leave  this  vile  world  without  an  effort 
to  gather  the  flowers  I  look  for  from  it,  even  if  I  must  die  for 
them  !  But,  remember,  for  it  is  due  to  my  memory,  that  had 
my  life  been  happy,  that  great  knife  of  theirs  held  above  my 
head  would  never  have  forced  me  to  take  a  part  in  this  tragedy, 
for  tragedy  it  is."  A  gesture  of  disgust  escaped  her;  then 
she  went  on,  "But  now,  if  the  piece  were  to  be  withdrawn,  I 
should  throw  myself  into  the  Sarthe,  and  that  would  be  in  no 
sense  a  suicide,  for  as  yet  I  have  not  lived." 

"  Oh,  holy  Virgin  of  Auray,  forgive  her !  " 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of?  The  dreary  ups  and  downs  of 
domestic  life  arouse  no  emotions  in  me,  as  you  know.     This 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHJtS.  71 

is  ill  in  a  woman,  but  my  soul  has  loftier  capacities,  in  order 
to  abide  mightier  trials.  I  should  have  been,  perhaps,  a 
gentle  creature  like  you.  Why  am  I  so  much  above  or  below 
other  women  ?  Ah,  how  happy  is  the  wife  of  General  Bona- 
parte !  But  I  shall  die  young,  for  even  now  I  have  come  not 
to  shrink  from  that  kind  of  pleasure  which  means  '  drinking 
blood,'  as  poor  Danton  used  to  say.  Now  forget  all  this  that 
the  woman  of  fifty  within  me  says.  The  girl  of  fifteen  will 
soon  reappear,  thank  heaven  !  " 

The  younger  woman  shuddered.  She  alone  understood  the 
fiery  and  impetuous  nature  of  her  mistress  ;  she  only  had  been 
initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  an  inner  life  full  of  lofty  imag- 
inings, the  ideas  of  a  soul  for  whom  life  had  hitherto  seemed 
intangible  as  a  shadow  which  she  longed  to  grasp.  There 
had  been  no  harvest  after  all  her  sowings  ;  her  nature  had 
never  been  touched ;  she  was  harassed  by  futile  longings, 
wearied  by  a  struggle  without  an  opponent,  so  that  in 
despair  she  had  come  to  prefer  good  to  evil  if  it  came  as 
an  enjoyment,  and  evil  to  good  if  only  an  element  of  poetry 
lurked  behind,  to  prefer  wretchedness  as  something  grander 
than  a  life  of  narrow  comfort,  and  death,  with  its  dark  un- 
certainties, to  an  existence  of  starved  hopes  or  insignificant 
sufferings.  Never  has  so  much  powder  awaited  the  spark, 
such  wealth  lain  in  store  for  love  to  consume,  so  much  gold 
been  mingled  with  the  clay  in  a  daughter  of  Eve.  Over 
this  nature  Francine  watched  like  an  angel  on  earth,  wor- 
shipping its  perfection,  feeling  that  she  should  fulfil  her 
mission  if  she  preserved  for  the  choir  above,  this  seraph, 
kept  afar  as  an  expiation  of  the  sin  of  pride. 

"That  is  the  steeple  of  Alen^on,"  said  their  cavalier,  as 
he  drew  near  to  the  coach, 

**  So  I  see,"  said  the  lady  drily. 

"Very  well !  "  he  said,  and  fell  back  again  with  all  tokens 
of  abject  submission,  in  spite  of  his  disappointment. 

"Quicker!"  cried  the  lady  to  the  postilion.     "There  is 


78  THE    CHOUANS. 

nothing  to  fear  now  !  Go  on  at  a  trot  or  a  gallop  if  you 
can.     We  are  on  the  causeway  of  Alengon,  are  we  not?" 

As  she  passed  him  she  called  graciously  to  Hulot — 

**  We  shall  meet  each  other  at  the  inn,  commandant.  Come 
and  see  me. ' ' 

"  Just  so,"  he  replied  ;  **  I  am  going  to  the  inn,  come  and 
see  me  !  That  is  the  way  to  speak  to  the  commandant  of  a 
demi-brigade." 

He  jerked  his  fist  in  the  direction  of  the  vanishing  coach. 

"Don't  grumble,  commandant,"  said  Corentin,  laughing; 
"she  has  your  general's  commission  in  her  sleeve,"  and  he 
tried  to  put  his  horse  to  a  gallop,  to  overtake  the  coach. 

**  Those  good  folk  shall  not  make  a  fool  of  me,"  growled 
Hulot  to  his  two  friends.  "  I  would  sooner  fling  my  general's 
uniform  into  a  ditch  than  get  it  through  a  woman's  favor. 
What  do  the  geese  mean  ?  Do  you  understand  their  drift, 
either  of  you?  " 

*'  Quite  well,"  said  Merle ;  "  I  know,  that  she  is  the  hand- 
somest woman  I  ever  set  eyes  on  !  You  don't  understand 
figures  of  speech,  I  think.  Perhaps  it  is  the  First  Consul's 
wife." 

"Stuff,  his  wife  is  not  young,  and  this  one  is,"  answered 
Hulot.  "Besides,  the  orders  I  have  received  from  the  minis- 
ter inform  me  that  she  is  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  She  is  a 
ci-devant.  Don't  I  know  that  !  They  used  to  carry  on  like 
this  before  the  Revolution  ;  you  could  be  a  chief  of  demi- 
brigade  in  a  brace  of  shakes.  You  had  only  to  say  to  them 
'My  dear!  '  once  or  twice,  with  the  proper  emphasis." 

As  each  soldier  "stepped  out,"  to  use  their  commandant's 
phrase,  the  wretched  vehicle  which  then  served  for  a  mail- 
coach  had  quickly  reached  the  sign  of  the  Three  Moors  in  the 
middle  of  the  principal  street  of  Alengon.  The  rattle  of  the 
crazy  conveyance  brought  the  landlord  to  the  threshold. 
Nobody  in  Alen^on  had  expected  that  chance  would  bring  the 
coach  to  the  sign  of  the  Three  Moors  ;  but  the  horrible  event 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHJt'S.  79 

at  Mortagne  brought  out  so  many  people  to  look  at  it,  that 
its  occupants,  to  escape  the  general  curiosity,  fled  into  the 
kitchen,  the  ante-chamber  of  every  inn  throughout  the  west. 
The  host  was  preparing  to  follow  them  after  a  look  at  the 
coach,  when  the  postilion  caught  his  arm. 

"Look  here,  citizen  Brutus,"  he  said  ;  **  there  is  an  escort 
of  Blues  on  the  way.  As  there  was  neither  driver  nor  dis- 
patches, it  was  my  doing  that  the  citoyennes  came  to  you. 
Of  course,  they  will  pay  like  ci-devant  princesses ;  and  so " 

•'  And  so,  we  shall  have  a  glass  of  wine  together  directly, 
my  boy,"  said  the  landlord. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  gave  one  glance  round  the  smoke-black- 
ened kitchen,  and  at  the  stains  of  raw  meat  on  the  table,  and 
then  fled  like  a  bird  into  the  next  room.  For  the  appearance 
and  odor  of  the  place  dismayed  her  quite  as  much  as  the 
inquisitive  looks  which  a  slovenly  cook  and  a  short,  stout 
woman  fastened  upon  her. 

**  How  are  we  going  to  manage,  wife  ?  "  said  the  landlord. 
**Who  the  devil  would  think  so  many  people  would  come 
here  as  times  go  now  ?  She  will  never  have  the  patience  to 
wait  till  I  can  serve  her  up  a  suitable  meal.  My  word,  I  have 
hit  upon  it ;  they  belong  to  the  quality,  why  shouldn't  they 
breakfast  with  the  lady  upstairs,  eh?  " 

When  the  host  looked  about  for  the  newcomers,  he  found 
only  Francine,  whom  he  drew  to  the  side  of  the  kitchen 
nearest  the  yard,  so  that  no  one  could  overhear  him,  and 
said — 

"If  the  ladies  wish  to  breakfast  by  themselves,  as  I  expect 
they  do,  I  have  a  very  nice  meal  now  ready  for  a  lady  and 
her  son.  They  would  not  object,  of  course,  to  breakfasting 
with  you,"  he  went  on  mysteriously.  "  They  are  people  of 
quality." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  before  the  landlord  felt  a  light 
blow  on  the  back  from  a  whip-handle  ;  he  turned  quickly  and 
saw  behind  him  a  short,  thick-set  man,  who  had  come  in  noise- 


80  THE   CHOUANS. 

lessly  from  a  closet  adjoining.  The  stout  woman,  the  cook, 
and  his  assistant  seemed  frozen  with  terror  by  this  apparition. 
The  landlord  turned  his  head  away  aghast.  The  short  man 
shook  aside  the  hair  that  covered  his  eyes  and  forehead  and 
stood  on  tiptoe  to  whisper  in  the  landlord's  ear — 

**  You  know  what  any  blabbing  or  imprudence  lays  you 
open  to,  and  the  color  of  the  money  we  pay  in.  We  never 
grudge  it "  A  gesture  rendered  his  meaning  horribly  clear. 

The  stout  person  of  the  landlord  hid  the  speaker,  but  Fran- 
cine  caught  a  word  here  and  there  of  his  muttered  talk,  and 
stood  as  if  thunderstruck  as  she  listened  to  the  hoarse  sounds 
of  a  Breton  voice.  Amid  the  general  dismay  she  sprang 
towards  the  speaker,  but  he  had  darted  through  a  side  door  into 
the  yard  with  the  quickness  of  a  wild  animal.  Francine 
thought  that  she  must  be  mistaken,  for  she  could  only  see  what 
appeared  to  be  the  brindled  fell  of  a  fair-sized  bear. 

She  ran  to  the  window  in  surprise,  and  gazed  after  the  figure 
through  the  grimy  panes.  He  was  slouching  off  to  the  stable  ; 
but  before  he  entered,  he  bent  two  piercing  black  eyes  upon 
the  first  story  of  the  inn,  and  then  turned  them  on  the  coach, 
as  if  he  wished  to  call  the  attention  of  some  one  within  to 
some  point  of  special  interest  about  it. 

Thanks  to  this  manoeuvre,  which  displayed  his  face,  Fran- 
cine  recognized  the  Chouan  as  Marche-a-Terre,  despite  his 
goatskin  cloak,  by  his  heavy  whip,  and  the  lagging  gait,  which 
he  could  quicken  upon  occasion.  She  watched  him  still  even 
through  the  dimness  of  the  stable,  where  he  lay  down  in  a 
heap  among  the  straw,  in  a  spot  whence  he  could  see  all  that 
went  on  in  the  inn.  Even  at  close  quarters  an  experienced 
spy  might  have  taken  him  for  a  big  carter's  dog  curled  round, 
asleep,  with  his  muzzle  between  his  paws.  His  conduct  con- 
vinced Francine  that  he  had  not  recognized  her.  In  her  mis- 
tress' difficult  position  she  hardly  knew  whether  this  was  a 
relief  or  an  annoyance.  But  her  curiosity  was  whetted  by  the 
mysterious  connection  between  the  Chouan's  threat  and  the 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCH&'S.  81 

landlord's  proposal,  for  an  innkeeper  is  always  ready  to  stop 
two  mouths  with  one  morsel. 

She  left  the  dingy  window,  whence  she  had  seen  Marche-a- 
Terre  as  a  shapeless  heap  in  the  darkness,  and  turned  to  the 
landlord,  who  stood  like  a  man  who  has  made  a  false  step  and 
cannot  see  how  to  retrieve  it.  The  Chouan's  gesture  had 
petrified  the  poor  fellow.  Every  one  in  the  west  knew  how 
the  Chasseurs  du  Roi  visited  even  a  suspicion  of  indiscretion 
with  cruel  refinements  of  torture.  The  landlord  seemed  to 
feel  their  knives  at  his  throat.  The  chef  stared  in  terror 
at  the  hearth,  where  too  often  they  "warmed  the  feet" 
of  their  victims.  The  stout  woman  ceased  to  pare  a  potato, 
and  gazed  stupidly  at  her  husband,  while  the  scullion  tried  to 
guess  the  meaning  of  this  mute  terror.  Francine's  curiosity 
was  naturally  roused  by  all  this  dumb-show,  with  the  principal 
performer  absent  though  still  visible.  The  Chouan's  terrible 
power  pleased  her ;  and  although  it  hardly  lay  in  her  meek 
nature  to  play  the  Abigail,  for  once  she  was  too  deeply  inter- 
ested not  to  use  her  opportunities  for  penetrating  this  mystery. 

"Very  good,  mademoiselle  accepts  your  offer,"  she  said 
gravely.     At  her  words  the  landlord  started  as  if  from  sleep. 

"  What  offer?  "  he  asked  in  real  surprise. 

"What  offer?"  asked  Corentin  as  he  came  in. 

"  What  offer?  "  asked  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 

"  What  offer?  "  asked  a  fourth  person  from  the  foot  of  the 
staircase,  as  he  sprang  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Why,  to  breakfast  with  your  people  of  distinction,"  an- 
swered Francine  impatiently. 

"People  of  distinction,"  said  the  arrival  from  the  staircase, 
in  caustic  and  mocking  tones  ;  "  this  is  one  of  your  landlord's 
jokes,  and  a  very  poor  one  ;  but  if  it  is  this  young  citoyenne 
whom  you  wish  to  add  to  our  party,"  he  added,  looking  at 
Mile,  de  Verneuil,  "  it  would  be  folly  to  decline,  my  good 
fellow.  In  my  mother's  absence  I  accept,"  and  he  clapped 
the  bewildered  landlord  on  the  shoulder. 
6 


82  THE   CHOUANS. 

The  careless  grace  of  youth  concealed  the  insolent  pride  of 
his  words,  which  naturally  drew  the  attention  of  those  present 
to  the  new  actor  in  the  scene.  The  host  put  on  the  face  of 
Pilate  at  this,  washing  his  hands  of  the  death  of  Christ ;  he 
stepped  back  and  whispered  to  his  plump  wife — 

"You  are  my  witness,  that  if  anything  goes  wrong,  I  am 
not  to  blame.  But  at  all  events,"  he  added  in  still  lower 
tones,  "let  M.  Marche-a-Terre  know  everything." 

The  newcomer  was  of  middle  height,  and  wore  the  uniform 
of  the  "  Ecole  polytechnique,"  a  blue  coat  without  epaulettes, 
breeches  of  the  same  material,  and  black  gaiters  that  reached 
above  the  knee.  In  spite  of  this  sombre  costume.  Mademoi- 
selle de  Verneuil  recognized  at  a  glance  the  grace  of  his  figure 
and  an  indescribable  something  which  indicated  noble  birth. 
At  first  sight  there  was  nothing  remarkable  in  his  face,  but 
something  in  his  features  soon  made  it  felt  that  he  was  capable 
of  great  things.  A  sun-burned  face,  fair  and  curling  hair, 
brilliant  blue  eyes,  and  a  delicately  cut  nose,  all  these  traits, 
like  the  ease  of  his  movements,  revealed  a  life  subordinated  to 
lofty  sentiments  and  a  mind  accustomed  to  command.  The 
feature  that  most  clearly  revealed  his  character  was  a  chin 
like  Bonaparte's,  or  a  mouth  where  the  lower  lip  met  the 
upper  in  a  curve  like  that  of  some  acanthus  leaf  on  a  Corin- 
thian capital;  there  nature  had  exerted  all  her  powers  of 
magic. 

"  This  young  man  is  no  ordinary  Republican,"  said  Mile. 
de  Verneuil  to  herself. 

She  understood  everything  in  a  moment,  and  the  wish  to 
please  awoke  in  her.  She  bent  her  head  a  little  to  one  side 
with  a  coquettish  smile,  and  the  dark  eyes  shot  forth  one  of 
those  velvet  glances  that  would  awaken  life  in  a  heart  dead  to 
love ;  then  the  heavy  eyelids  fell  over  her  black  eyes,  and 
their  thick  lashes  made  a  curved  line  of  shadow  on  her  cheeks 
as  she  said,  "  We  are  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  impart- 
ing a  thrill  to  the  conventional  phrase  by  the  most  musical 


A   NOTION  OF  FOU CHE'S.  83 

tones  her  voice  could  give.  All  this  by-play  took  place  in 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  describe  it,  and  at  once  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  turned  to  the  landlord,  asked  for  her  room,  found 
the  staircase,  and  disappeared  with  Francine,  leaving  the 
stranger  to  decide  whether  or  no  she  had  accepted  his  invita- 
tion. 

*'  Who  is  the  woman  ?  "  asked  the  pupil  of  the  Ecole  poly- 
technique  of  the  still  further  embarrassed  and  motionless 
landlord. 

"  She  is  the  citoyenne  Verneuil,"  answered  Corentin  tartly, 
as  he  ran  his  eyes  over  the  other  jealously.  "  What  makes 
you  ask  ?  ' ' 

The  stranger  hummed  a  Republican  air,  and  raised  his  head 
haughtily  at  Corentin.  The  two  young  men  looked  at  one 
another  for  a  moment  like  game-cocks  about  to  fight,  and  at  a 
glance  an  undying  hatred  of  each  other  dawned  in  them  both. 
For  the  frank  gaze  of  the  soldier's  blue  eyes  there  shone 
malice  and  deceit  in  Corentin's  green  orbs.  The  one  naturally 
possessed  a  gracious  manner,  the  other  could  only  substitute 
insinuating  dexterity  of  address ;  the  first  would  have  rushed 
forward  where  the  other  slunk  back.  The  one  commanded 
the  respect  that  the  other  sought  to  obtain  ;  the  first  seemed 
to  say,  "Let  us  conquer!  "  the  second,  "Let  us  divide  the 
spoil !  " 

"  Is  the  citizen  du  Gua  St.-Cyr  here?  "  asked  a  peasant  at 
the  door. 

"What  do  you  want  with  him?"  asked  the  young  man, 
coming  forward. 

The  peasant  made  a  deep  reverence  and  handed  him  a  letter, 
which  the  young  man  read  and  threw  into  the  fire.  He  nod- 
ded by  way  of  answer,  and  the  peasant  went  away. 

"You  have  come  from  Paris,  no  doubt,  citizen!"  said 
Corentin,  coming  up  to  him  with  a  familiar  and  cringing 
complaisance  that  the  citizen  du  Gua  could  hardly  endure. 

"Yes,"  he  replied  drily. 


84  THE   CHOUANS. 

"  Some  appointment  in  the  artillery,  I  expect  ?  " 

"  No,  citizen,  in  the  navy." 

"Ah!  then  you  are  going  to  Brest,"  said  Corentin  care- 
lessly, but  the  young  sailor  turned  away  quickly  on  his  heel 
without  replying. 

He  soon  disappointed  the  fair  expectations  that  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  had  formed  of  him.  A  puerile  interest  in  his  break- 
fast absorbed  him.  He  discussed  recipes  with  the  chef  and 
the  landlady,  opened  his  eyes  at  provincial  ways  like  a  fledg- 
ling Parisian  picked  out  of  his  enchanted  shell,  affected 
repugnances,  and  altogether  showed  a  weakness  of  mind  that 
one  would  not  have  expected  from  his  appearance.  Corentin 
smiled  pityingly  as  he  turned  up  his  nose  at  the  best  cider  in 
Normandy. 

"  Faugh  !  "  he  cried,  "how  do  you  manage  to  swallow  that 
stuff"?  One  could  eat  and  drink  it  too.  No  wonder  the 
Republic  suspects  a  district  where  they  bang  the  trees  with 
long  poles  for  their  vintage,  and  lie  in  wait  to  shoot  travelers 
on  the  roads.  Don't  put  that  physic  on  the  table  for  us,  but 
give  us  some  good  Bordeaux  wine,  both  white  and  red,  and 
see,  above  all  things,  that  there  is  a  good  fire  upstairs.  Civili- 
zation is  a  long  way  behind  hereabouts,  it  seems  to  me. 
Ah  !  "  he  sighed,  "  there  is  but  one  Paris  in  the  world,  and  it 
is  a  pity  indeed  that  one  cannot  take  it  afloat  with  one. 
Hullo,  spoil-sauce,"  he  cried  to  the  cook,  "  do  you  mean  to 
say  you  are  putting  vinegar  into  the  fricassee  when  there  are 
lemons  at  hand  ?  And  your  sheets,  madame  landlady,  were 
so  coarse  that  I  scarcely  slept  a  wink  all  night." 

He  then  betook  himself  to  playing  with  a  large  cane, 
performing  with  childish  gravity  a  number  of  evolutions, 
which  decided  the  place  of  a  youth  among  incroyables*hy 
the  degree  of  skill  and  neatness  with  which  they  were 
executed. 

"  And  out  of  whipper-snappers  like  that  the  Republic  hopes 
*  Dudes. 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCH&'S.  85 

to  construct  a  navy,"  said  Corentin  confidentially,  as  he 
scanned  the  landlord's  face. 

'*  That  man  is  one  of  Fouche's  spies,"  whispered  the  sailor 
to  the  landlady.  "  I  see  it  in  every  line  of  his  face.  I  would 
swear  that  he  brought  that  splash  of  mud  on  his  chin  from 
Paris.     But  set  a  thief  to  catch " 

A  lady  entered  the  kitchen  as  he  spoke,  whom  he  greeted 
with  every  outward  sign  of  respect. 

"Come  here,  ch'ere  maman,'"  he  cried;  "  I  think  I  have 
found  some  one  to  share  our  meal." 

"To  share  our  meal !     What  nonsense  !  "  she  replied. 

"It  is  Mile,  de  Verneuil,"  he  said,  lowering  his  voice. 

" She  perished  on  the  scaffold  after  the  Savenay  affair;  she 
had  come  to  Mans  to  save  her  brother,  the  Prince  de  Loudon," 
said  his  mother  shortly. 

"You  are  mistaken,  madame,"  said  Corentin  amiably, 
and  with  a  little  pause  on  the  word  madame.  "  There  is 
a  second  Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil.  Great  families  have 
always  several  branches. ' ' 

Surprised  at  his  freedom,  the  lady  drew  back  a  pace  or 
two,  as  if  to  scrutinize  this  unlooked-for  speaker.  She  bent 
her  dark  eyes  upon  him  as  if  she  would  divine,  with  a 
woman's  keen  power  of  apprehension,  why  he  affirmed  Mile. 
de  Verneuil  to  be  yet  in  existence.  Corentin,  who  at  the 
same  time  furtively  studied  the  lady,  refused  her  the  pleasures 
of  maternity  to  endow  her  with  those  of  love. 

He  gallantly  declined  to  believe  her  to  be  the  happy 
mother  of  a  son  twenty  years  of  age,  seeing  her  dazzling 
complexion,  her  thick  arching  eyebrows,  her  still  abundant 
eyelashes,  which  excited  his  admiration,  and  her  wealth  of 
black  tresses,  divided  on  the  forehead  into  two  bandeaux, 
a  style  which  enhanced  the  youthfulness  of  a  sprightly  face. 
It  was  the  force  of  passion,  he  thought,  and  by  no  means 
time,  that  had  set  faint  lines  on  her  forehead ;  and  if  the 
piercing  eyes  drooped  somewhat,  this   might  be  due  rather 


86  THE   CHOUANS. 

to  the  constant  expression  of  lively  feelings  than  to  the 
weariness  of  her  pilgrimage.  Corentin  then  discovered  that 
the  cloak  she  wore  was  of  English  materials,  and  that  her 
bonnet  followed  some  foreign  fashion,  and  was  not  in  the 
mode,  called  a  la  Grecque,  which  ruled  Parisian  toilettes. 

Corentin's  nature  always  led  him  to  suspect  evil  rather  than 
good,  and  he  began  at  once  to  have  his  doubts  as  to  the 
patriotism  of  the  pair ;  while  the  lady,  who  had  as  rapidly 
come  to  her  own  conclusions  about  Corentin,  looked  at  her 
son,  as  if  to  say,  "  Who  is  this  quiz?  Is  he  on  our  side?  " 
To  this  implied  question,  the  young  man's  manner  replied, 
like  his  look  and  gesture,  "  I  know  nothing  about  him,  upon 
my  word,  and  you  cannot  suspect  him  as  much  as  I  do." 
Then,  leaving  it  to  his  mother  to  discover  the  mystery,  he 
went  up  and  whispered  to  the  hostess — 

"  Try  to  find  out  who  the  rogue  is,  and  whether  he  really 
does  accompany  that  young  lady,  and  why." 

"  So  you  are  sure,  citizen,"  said  Mme.  du  Gua,  looking  at 
Corentin,"  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  is  still  living?" 

"  She  exists  as  surely  in  flesh  and  blood,  madame,  as  the 
citizen  du  Gua  Saint-Cyr." 

There  was  a  profound  irony  beneath  his  words,  known  only 
to  the  lady  herself;  any  other  woman  would  have  been  dis- 
concerted. Her  son  suddenly  fixed  his  eyes  on  Corentin, 
who  coolly  drew  out  his  watch,  and  did  not  seem  to  suspect 
the  apprehensions  his  reply  had  aroused.  But  the  lady, 
uneasy  and  anxious  to  know  at  once  whether  treachery  lurked 
in  the  words,  or  chance  had  directed  them,  said  to  Corentin 
quite  simply — 

"  Mon  Dieu  /  How  unsafe  the  roads  are  !  The  Chouans 
set  upon  us  on  the  other  side  of  Mortagne.  My  son  narrowly 
escaped  being  left  there  for  good  ;  he  had  two  balls  through 
his  hat  while  defending  me." 

"  Then,  madame,  you  were  in  the  coach  that  was  plundered 
by   the  brigands,   in  spite  of  its  escort,  and  which  has  just 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCH&'S.  87 

brought  us  hither.  You  will  recognize  it,  I  expect.  They 
said  as  I  came  through  Mortagne  that  Chouans  to  the  number 
of  two  thousand  had  attacked  the  mail,  and  that  every  one, 
even  the  travelers,  had  perished.  That  is  how  history  is 
written." 

The  fatuous  air  with  which  Corentin  spoke,  and  his  drawling 
tones,  recalled  some  habitue  of  "  La  Petite  Provence,"  who 
has  discovered  to  his  sorrow  that  a  piece  of  political  news 
is  false. 

"  Alas,  madame,"  he  went  on,  "if  travelers  are  murdered 
at  such  a  short  distance  from  Paris,  what  will  be  the  state  of 
affairs  in  Brittany  !  Faith,  I  shall  go  back  to  Paris  and  not 
venture  any  further." 

"Is  Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil  young  and  beautiful?" 
asked  the  lady  of  their  hostess,  as  a  sudden  thought  crossed 
her  mind. 

Just  then  the  landlord  ended  the  conversation,  which  had 
so  painful  an  interest  for  the  three  speakers,  by  the  announce- 
ment that  breakfast  was  ready.  The  young  sailor  offered  his 
arm  to  his  mother  with  an  assumed  familiarity  which  con- 
firmed Corentin's  doubts. 

He  called  out  as  he  reached  the  staircase — 
"  Citizen,  if  you  are  traveling  with  the  citoyenne  Verneuil, 
and  she  accepts  our  landlord's  offer,  do  not  hesitate."  And 
though  these  words  were  careless,  and  his  manner  by  no  means 
pressing,  Corentin  went  upstairs.  As  soon  as  they  were  some 
seven  or  eight  steps  ahead  of  the  Parisian,  the  young  man 
pressed  the  lady's  hand  affectionately,  and  said  in  a  low  voice — 
"See  now  the  inglorious  hazards  to  which  your  plans  have 
exposed  us.  If  we  are  detected,  how  are  we  to  escape  ?  And 
what  a  part  you  have  made  me  play  !  " 

The  three  entered  a  large-sized  room.  Even  those  unac- 
customed to  travel  in  the  west  would  have  seen  that  the 
landlord  had  expended  all  his  resources  in  a  lavish  preparation 
for  his  guests.     The  table  was  carefully  appointed,  the  damp- 


83  THE   CHOUANS. 

ness  of  the  room  had  been  driven  off  by  a  large  fire,  the 
earthenware,  linen,  and  furniture  were  not  intolerably  dirty. 
Corentin  saw  that  the  landlord  had  put  himself  about  a  good 
deal,  as  the  popular  saying  is,  to  please  the  strangers. 

"So,"  he  thought,  "these  people  are  not  what  they  wish 
to  appear  then.  The  little  youngster  is  adroit.  I  took  him 
for  a  simpleton,  but  I  fancy  he  is  quite  as  sharp  as  I  am 
myself." 

The  landlord  went  to  inform  Mile,  de  Verneuil  that  the 
young  sailor,  his  mother,  and  Corentin  awaited  her  coming. 

As  she  did  not  appear,  the  student  of  the  Ecole  polytech- 
nique  felt  sure  that  she  had  raised  difi&culties,  and  humming, 
"  Veillons  au  salut  de  I'Empire,"  he  went  off  in  the  direction 
of  her  room.  A  curiously  keen  desire  possessed  him  to  over- 
come her  scruples  and  bring  her  back  with  him.  Perhaps  he 
meant  to  solve  the  doubts  which  disturbed  him,  or  to  try  to 
exert  over  this  stranger  the  authority  men  like  to  exercise  in 
the  case  of  a  pretty  woman. 

"May  I  be  hanged  if  that  is  a  Republican,"  thought 
Corentin,  as  he  went  out.  "  The  movements  of  those  shoul- 
ders show  the  courtier And  if  that  is  his  mother,"    he 

continued,  as  he  looked  again  at  Mme.  du  Gua,  "  I  am  the 
Pope  !  I  believe  they  are  Chouans ;  let  us  make  certain  of 
their  condition." 

The  door  soon  opened,  and  the  young  sailor  appeared, 
leading  by  the  hand  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  whom  he  led  to  her 
place  with  presumptuous  civility.  The  devil  had  lost  nothing 
during  the  hour  which  had  just  passed.  With  Francine's  aid. 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  equipped  herself  in  a  traveling  dress 
more  formidable  perhaps  than  a  ball  toilette ;  for  a  woman 
beautiful  enough  to  discard  ornaments  knows  how  to  relegate 
the  charms  of  her  toilette  to  a  second  place,  and  to  avail  her- 
self of  the  attractions  of  a  simplicity  that  proceeds  from  art. 
She  wore  a  green  dress,  charmingly  made,  and  a  short  jacket  or 
spencer  fastened  with  loops  of  twisted  braid,  a  costume  which 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHE'S.  89 

fitted  the  outlines  of  her  form  with  a  subtlety  scarcely  girlish, 
and  displayed  her  slender  figure  and  graceful  movements. 
She  came  in  smiling,  with  the  amiability  natural  to  a  woman 
who  can  disclose  a  set  of  even  teeth,  white  as  porcelain, 
between  two  red  lips,  and  a  couple  of  fresh  childish  dimples 
in  her  cheeks.  She  had  discarded  the  bonnet,  which  at  first 
had  almost  hidden  her  face  from  the  young  sailor,  and  could 
employ  the  numerous  apparently  unconscious  little  devices  by 
which  a  woman  displays  or  enhances  the  charms  of  her  face 
and  the  graces  of  her  head.  A  certain  harmony  between  her 
manners  and  her  toilette  made  her  seem  so  youthful  that 
Madame  du  Gua  thought  herself  liberal  in  allowing  her  some 
twenty  years  of  age. 

The  coquetry  of  this  change  of  costume,  which  showed  a 
deliberate  effort  to  please,  might  have  aroused  hope  in  the 
young  man,  but  Mile,  de  Verneuil  bowed  slightly  without 
looking  at  him,  and  left  him  to  himself  with  a  careless  cheer- 
fulness that  disconcerted  him.  Her  reserve  seemed  to  unac- 
customed eyes  to  indicate  neither  coquetry  nor  prudence, 
but  simple  indifference,  real  or  affected.  The  ingenuous 
expression  which  she  knew  how  to  assume  was  inscrutable. 
There  was  not  a  trace  in  her  manner  of  the  anticipation  of  a 
conquest;  the  pretty  ways  which  had  already  flattered  and 
deceived  the  young  man's  self-love  seemed  native  to  her.  So 
the  stranger  took  his  place  somewhat  put  out. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  took  Francine's  hand  and  addressed 
Mme.  du  Gua  in  conciliatory  tones — 

"Madame,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  allow  this  girl  to 
breakfast  with  us  ?  She  is  rather  a  friend  than  a  servant,  and 
in  these  stormy  times  devotion  can  only  be  repaid  by  friend- 
ship; indeed,  what  else  is  there  left  to  us?"  To  this  last 
observation,  made  in  a  lowered  voice,  Mme.  du  Gua  replied 
by  a  somewhat  stiff  and  mutilated  courtesy  that  revealed  her 
annoyance  at  coming  in  contact  with  so  pretty  a  woman.  She 
stooped  to  whisper  in  her  son's  ear — 


90  THE   CHOUANS. 

"Oh  !  'stormy times,*  'devotion,'  'madame,'  and  'the wait- 
ing woman ;  '  this  is  not  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  but  some  creature 
sent  by  Fouche." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  became  aware  of  Corentin's  presence  as 
they  seated  themselves ;  he  still  submitted  the  strangers  to  a 
narrow  inspection,  under  which  they  seemed  rather  uneasy. 

"  Citizen,"  she  said,  "I  am  sure  that  you  are  too  well  bred 
to  wish  to  follow  me  about  in  this  way.  The  Republic  sent  my 
relations  to  the  scaffold,  bat  had  not  the  magnanimity  to  find 
a  guardian  for  me.  So,  though  against  my  wish,  you  have 
accompanied  me  so  far  with  a  Quixotic  courtesy  quite  unheard 
of,"  and  she  sighed,  "I  am  determined  not  to  permit  the 
protecting  care  you  have  expended  upon  me  to  become  a 
source  of  annoyance  to  you.  I  am  in  safety  here  and  you  can 
leave  me." 

She  looked  at  him  resolutely  and  scornfully.  Corentin 
understood  her,  suppressed  a  lurking  smile  about  the  corners 
of  his  crafty  month,  and  bowed  respectfully. 

**  Citoyenne,"  said  he,  "it  is  always  an  honor  to  obey 
your  commands.  Beauty  is  the  only  queen  whom  a  true 
Republican  can  willingly  serve." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  smiled  so  significantly  and  joyously  at 
Francine  as  he  went,  that  Madame  du  Gua's  suspicions  were 
somewhat  allayed,  albeit  prudence  had  come  along  with 
jealousy  of  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  perfect  loveliness. 

"  Perhaps  she  is  Mile,  de  Verneuil  after  all,"  she  said  to  her 
son. 

"  How  about  the  escort?"  he  answered,  for  vexation  had 
made  him  discreet  in  his  turn.  "Is  he  her  gaoler  or  her 
protector  ?     Is  she  a  friend  or  an  enemy  of  the  government  ?  " 

Madame  du  Gua's  eyes  seemed  to  say  that  she  meant  to  go 
to  the  bottom  of  this  mystery.  Corentin's  departure  appeared 
to  reassure  the  young  sailor,  his  face  relaxed,  but  the  way  in 
which  he  looked  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil  revealed  rather  an 
immoderate   love  of  woman   in   general   than   the   dawning 


A    NOTION  OF  lOUCH&'S.  91 

warmth  of  a  respectful  passion.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
young  lady  grew  more  and  more  reserved,  keeping  all  her 
friendly  words  for  Madame  du  Gua,  until  the  young  man  grew 
sulky  at  being  left  to  himself,  and  in  his  vexation  assumed 
airs  of  indifference.  It  was  all  lost,  it  seemed,  upon  Mile,  de 
Verneuil,  who  appeared  to  be  unaffected,  but  not  shy,  and 
reserved  without  prudishness.  After  all,  this  casual  meeting 
of  people  who  were  unlikely  to  know  more  of  each  other 
called  for  no  especial  emotion  ;  but  a  certain  constraint  or 
even  a  vulgar  embarrassment  began  to  spoil  any  pleasure  which 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  and  the  young  sailor  had  expected  from  it 
but  a  moment  before.  But  women  have  among  themselves 
such  strong  interests  in  common,  or  such  a  keen  desire  for  emo- 
tions, combined  with  so  wonderful  an  instinct  for  finding  the 
right  thing  to  say  and  do,  that  they  can  always  break  the  ice 
on  such  occasions.  So  that,  as  if  one  thought  possessed  both 
ladies,  they  began  to  rally  their  cavalier,  rivaled  each  other 
in  paying  him  various  small  attentions,  and  joked  at  his  ex- 
pense. This  unanimity  of  plan  set  them  free  from  constraint. 
Words  and  looks  began  to  lose  their  significance  and  import- 
ance. At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  in  fact,  the  two  women, 
already  enemies  at  heart,  were  outwardly  on  the  best  of  terms, 
while  the  young  sailor  found  that  he  preferred  Mademoiselle  de 
Verneuil's  reserve  to  her  present  vivacity.  He  was  so  tormented 
that  he  angrily  wished  he  had  not  asked  her  to  join  them. 

"Madame,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil  at  last,  "is 
your  son  always  as  dull  as  this  ?  ' ' 

"Mademoiselle,"  broke  in  the  victim,  "I  was  just  asking 
myself  what  is  the  good  of  a  pleasure  that  cannot  last.  The 
keenness  of  my  enjoyment  is  the  secret  of  my  dulness." 

"Pretty  speeches  like  that  are  rather  courtly  for  the  Ecole 
polytechnique,"  she  said,  laughing. 

"  His  idea  was  very  natural,  mademoiselle,"  said  Madame 
du  Gua,  who  for  her  own  reasons  wished  to  set  her  guest 
at  ease. 


92  THE    CHOUANS. 

"  Come,  why  do  you  not  laugh  ?  "  said  the  latter,  smiling. 
**  How  do  you  look  when  you  weep,  if  what  you  are  pleased 
to  call  *a  pleasure'  depresses  you  like  this?"  continued 
Mile,  de  Verneuil, 

Her  smile,  accompanied  by  a  challenge  from  her  eyes 
which  broke  through  the  mask  of  sedateness,  gave  some  hope 
to  the  young  sailor.  But  inspired  by  her  nature,  which  always 
leads  a  woman  to  do  too  much  or  too  little,  the  more  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  seemed  to  take  possession  of  the  young  sailor  by 
glances  full  of  the  foreshadowing  of  love,  the  more  she 
opposed  a  cool  and  reserved  severity  to  his  gallant  expressions 
— the  common  tactics  which  women  use  to  conceal  their 
sentiments.  For  one  moment,  and  one  only,  when  each  had 
thought  to  find  the  other's  eyelids  lowered,  a  glance  com- 
municated their  real  thoughts;  but  they  both  lowered  their 
eyes  as  promptly  as  they  had  raised  them,  confounded  by  the 
sudden  flash  that  had  agitated  both  their  hearts  while  it  en- 
lightened them.  In  embarrassment  at  having  said  so  much 
in  a  glance,  they  did  not  dare  to  look  at  each  other  again. 
Mile,  de  Verneuil,  anxious  to  undeceive  the  stranger,  took 
refuge  in  a  cool  politeness,  and  even  seemed  to  be  impatient 
for  their  breakfast  to  be  over. 

"  You  must  have  suffered  much  in  prison,  mademoiselle?  " 
queried  Mme.  du  Gua. 

*'  Alas  !  madame,  I  feel  as  though  I  had  not  yet  ceased  to 
be  a  prisoner." 

"Is  your  escort  intended  to  watch  you  or  to  watch  over 
you,  mademoiselle  ?  Are  you  suspected  by  the  Republic,  or 
are  you  dear  to  it  ?" 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  felt  instinctively  that  Mme.  du  Gua  took 
but  little  interest  in  her,  and  the  question  startled  her. 

"  Madame,"  she  replied,  "  I  hardly  know  what  my  precise 
relations  with  the  Republic  are  at  this  moment." 

"You  make  it  tremble,  perhaps,"  said  the  young  man, 
somewhat  ironically. 


A  NOTION   OF  FOUCH&S.  93 

**  Why  do  you  not  respect  mademoiselle's  secrets?  "  asked 
Mme.  du  Gua. 

"The  secrets  of  a  young  girl  who  has  known  nothing  of 
life  as  yet  but  its  sorrows  are  not  very  interesting,  madame," 

"But  the  First  Consul  seems  to  be  exceedingly  well  dis- 
posed," said  Mme.  du  Gua,  desiring  to  keep  up  a  conversa- 
tion which  might  tell  her  something  that  she  wanted  to  know. 
**  Do  they  not  say  that  he  is  about  to  repeal  the  law  against 
emigrants?" 

"It  is  quite  true,  madame,"  said  the  other,  almost  too 
eagerly  perhaps.  "  Why,  then,  should  we  arouse  La  Vendee 
and  Brittany?  Why  kindle  the  flames  of  insurrection  in 
France?" 

This  generous  outburst,  in  which  she  seemed  to  put  a 
note  of  self-reproach,  moved  the  young  sailor.  He  looked 
attentively  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  but  he  could  read  neither 
hatred  nor  love  in  her  face.  Her  face,  with  its  delicate 
tints  that  attested  the  fineness  of  the  skin,  was  impenetra- 
ble. Ungovernable  curiosity  suddenly  attracted  him  towards 
this  singular  being,  to  whom  he  had  already  felt  drawn  by 
strong  desire. 

"But  you  are  going  to  Mayenne,  madame?"  she  asked 
after  a  short  pause. 

"And  if  so,  mademoiselle?"  queried  the  young  man. 

"  Well,  if  so,  madame,  and  as  your  son  is  in  the  service  of 
the  Republic " 

These  words  were  uttered  with  seeming  carelessness,  but 
she  gave  a  furtive  glance  at  the  two  strangers,  such  as  only 
women  and  diplomatists  employ,  as  she  continued,  "You 
must  be  in  fear  of  the  Chouans  ?  An  escort  is  not  to  be  de- 
spised. We  are  almost  traveling  companions  already.  Will 
you  come  with  us  to  Mayenne?  " 

Mother  and  son  looked  at  each  other,  and  the  latter  spoke. 

"  I  hardly  know,  mademoiselle,  whether  I  do  very  dis- 
creetly in  telling  you  that  matters  of  great  importance  require 


94  THE  CHOUANS. 

us  to  be  in  the  district  of  Fougeres  to-night,  and  so  far  we 
have  found  no  means  of  transport ;  but  women  are  so  generous 
by  nature  that  I  should  be  ashamed  not  to  trust  you.  But  still," 
he  continued,  *'  before  we  put  ourselves  in  your  hands,  let  us 
know  at  any  rate  if  we  are  likely  to  issue  from  them  safe  and 
sound.  Are  you  the  slave  or  the  mistress  of  your  Repub- 
lican escort  ?  Forgive  the  plain  speaking  of  a  young  sailor, 
but  I   see   so  much   that   is  unusual   in   your   circumstances 


"  In  these  times,  sir,  nothing  that  happens  is  usual.  Be- 
lieve me,  you  may  accept  without  hesitation.  Above  all," 
she  spoke  with  emphasis,  "  you  have  no  treachery  to  fear  in  a 
straightforward  offer  made  by  one  who  takes  no  share  in  party 
hatreds." 

**  Even  then  the  journey  will  have  its  perils,"  he  answered, 
with  an  arch  look  that  gave  significance  to  the  commonplace 
words. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of  now  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  mocking 
smile ;  **  there  is  no  danger  that  I  see,  for  anybody." 

*' Is  this  the  woman  whose  glances  reflected  my  desires," 
said  he  to  himself.  *'  What  a  tone  to  take  !  Does  she  mean 
to  entrap  me?" 

The  shrill  piercing  cry  of  a  screech-owl  rang  out  like  a 
dismal  portent ;  it  seemed  to  come  from  the  chimney. 

"  What  is  that?"  asked  Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil,  with  a 
gesture  of  surprise.  **  It  is  a  bad  omen  for  our  journey. 
And  how  is  it  that  screech-owls  hoot  in  broad  daylight  here- 
abouts?" 

"  They  do  at  times,"  said  the  young  man  shortly.  *'  Made- 
moiselle, perhaps  we  shall  bring  you  ill-luck.  Is  not  that  what 
you  are  thinking?     We  had  better  not  travel  together." 

This  was  said  with  a  soberness  and  gravity  that  aston- 
ished her. 

**I  have  no  wish  to  constrain  you,  sir,"  she  said  with  aris- 
tocratic impertinence.     "  Pray  let  us  keep  what  little  liberty 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHiPS.  95 

the  Republic  allows  us.  If  your  mother  were  alone,  I  should 
insist ' ' 

The  heavy  footsteps  of  a  soldier  sounded  froni  the  corridor, 
and  Hulot  showed  a  scowling  face. 

"Come  here,  colonel,"  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  smiling 
and  pointing  to  a  chair  beside  her.  "  Let  us  occupy  ourselves 
with  affairs  of  State  if  we  must.  But  do  not  look  so  serious  I 
What  is  the  matter  with  you?    Are  there  Chouans  about?  " 

The  commandant  was  staring  open-mouthed  at  the  stranger, 
at  whom  he  gazed  with  close  attention. 

**  Will  you  take  some  more  hare,  mother?  Mademoiselle, 
you  are  eating  nothing,"  the  sailor  said  to  Francine,  and  he 
busied  himself  with  his  companions. 

But  there  was  something  so  cruelly  earnest  in  Hulot's  sur- 
prise and  Mile,  de  Verneuil' s  attention,  that  it  was  dangerous 
to  disregard  these  facts. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  commandant  !  Do  you  happen  to 
know  me  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  the  Republican. 

''  Indeed,  I  think  I  have  seen  you  as  a  visitor  at  the 
school." 

"I  never  went  to  school  at  all,"  the  commandant  answered 
abruptly.     "  What  sort  of  school  may  you  come  from?  " 

**The  Ecole  polytechnique." 

**  Oh  !  ah  !  yes !  Those  barracks  where  they  train  soldiers 
in  the  dormitories,"  replied  the  commandant,  who  had  an 
ungovernable  dislike  of  all  officers  from  this  scientific  semi- 
nary.    "  What  corps  are  you  serving  in  ?  " 

**  I  am  in  the  navy." 

"Ah!"  said  Hulot,  laughing  spitefully,  "do  you  know 
many  pupils  from  that  school  in  the  navy  ?  They  only  turn 
out  officers  of  artillery  and  engineers,"  he  went  on  sternly. 

The  other  was  not  disconcerted. 

"  The  name  I  bear  has  made  an  exception  of  me,"  he 
answered.     "We  have  all  been  sailors  in  our  family." 


96  THE   CHOUANS. 

"Ah!"  said  Hulot;  "and  what   is  your  family  name, 

citizen?" 

"DuGuaSaint-Cyr." 

"  Then  you  were  not  murdered  at  Mortagne?  " 

"  Ah  !     A  very  little  more  and  we  would  have  been,"  said 

Madame  du  Gua;  "my  son  had  a  couple  of  balls  through 
»> 

"  Have  you  your  papers?  "  said  Hulot,  who  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  the  mother. 

"Would  you  like  to  read  them?"  said  the  young  man 
flippantly,  with  malice  in  his  blue  eyes,  as  he  looked  from  the 
scowling  commandant  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 

"I  am  to  have  a  young  fool  set  his  wits  at  me,  I  suppose," 
said  Hulot.  "  Give  me  your  papers,  or  come  away  with 
you." 

"Come,  come,  my  fine  fellow,  I  am  not  a  recruit.  Why 
should  I  answer  you?    Who  may  you  be?  " 

"I  am  the  commandant  of  the  department,"  answered 
Hulot. 

"Oh,  then  this  is  a  very  serious  matter,  and  I  might  be 
taken  with  arms  in  my  hands."  He  held  out  a  glass  of 
Bordeaux  wine  to  the  commandant. 

"I  am  not  thirsty,"  said  Hulot.  "Come,  show  me  your 
papers." 

Just  then  the  tramp  of  soldiers  and  the  clanking  of  weapons 
filled  the  street.  Hulot  stepped  to  the  window  with  a  satisfac- 
tion that  alarmed  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  This  sign  of  concern 
softened  the  young  man,  whose  face  had  grown  cold  and  hard. 
He  searched  the  pocket  of  his  coat  and  drew  out  an  elegant 
portfolio,  and  from  this  he  selected  papers  which  he  handed 
to  the  commandant,  and  which  Hulot  began  to  read  deliber- 
ately, studying  the  signature  on  the  passport  and  the  face  of 
the  suspected  traveler.  As  he  proceeded  with  his  scrutiny, 
the  screech-owl  hooted  again,  but  this  time  it  was  plainly  in 
the  accents  of  a  human  voice. 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCH^S.  97 

The  commandant  returned  the  papers  with  a  sarcastic  ex- 
pression. 

"This  is  all  very  fine,"  he  said,  "  but  you  must  follow  me 
to  the  district  headquarters.  I  am  not  fond  of  music,"  ac- 
companying it  with  a  slight  movement  towards  the  door. 

''Why  take  him  to  the  district  headquarters?  "  asked  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  in  a  new  tone  of  voice. 

"That  is  no  business  of  yours,  young  lady,"  said  Hulot, 
with  the  usual  grimace. 

Irritated  at  this  language  from  the  old  soldier,  and  by  the 
way  she  had  been  lowered,  as  it  were,  in  the  eyes  of  a  man  who 
had  taken  a  fancy  to  her,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  dropped  the 
sedate  manner  which  had  hitherto  been  hers,  her  color  rose, 
and  her  eyes  glowed. 

"Tell  me,  has  this  young  man  satisfied  the  requirements 
of  the  law?"  she  asked  gently,  though  her  voice  faltered  a 
little. 

"Yes,  to  outward  seeming." 

"Well,  then,  I  shall  expect  you  to  leave  him  alone  'in 
outward  seeming.'  Are  you  afraid  he  will  escape  you?  You 
are  going  to  escort  us  to  Mayenne ;  he  and  his  mother  will 
travel  in  the  coach  with  me.  No  objections — it  is  my  wish  ! 
Now,  what  is  it?"  she  added  when  he  made  his  usual  little 
grimace.     "  Do  you  still  suspect  him?  " 

"To  some  extent." 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?" 

"  Nothing  but  to  cool  his  head  a  bit  with  some  lead. 
A  hare-brained  boy  ! ' '  said  the  commandant,  sardonically. 

"You  are  joking,  colonel." 

"Come,  comrade!"  said  the  commandant,  with  a  move- 
ment of  the  head  ;  "  come,  let  us  be  off,  sharp  !  " 

At  this  impertinence  from  Hulot,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  smiled 
and  grew  calm. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,"  she  said  to  the  young  man,  with  a 
dignified  gesture  of  protection. 
7 


98  THE   CHOUANS. 

"What  a  splendid  head!"  he  whispered  to  his  mother, 
who  knitted  her  brows. 

Repressed  vexation  and  wounded  susceptibilities  had  brought 
new  beauties  into  the  fair  Parisian's  face.  Every  one  rose  to 
their  feet,  Francine,  and  Mme.  du  Gua  and  her  son.  Mile. 
de  Verneuil  quickly  stepped  between  them  and  the  comman- 
dant, who  was  smiling,  and  deftly  unfastened  the  loops  of 
braid  on  her  spencer.  Then  with  the  heedlessness  that  possesses 
a  woman  whose  self-love  has  been  severely  wounded,  she  drew 
out  a  letter  and  handed  it  at  once  to  the  commandant,  pleased 
with  her  power,  and  as  impatient  to  exercise  it  as  any  child 
can  be  to  try  a  new  plaything. 

"  Read  it,"  she  said  with  a  sarcastic  smile. 

Intoxicated  with  her  triumph,  she  returned  towards  the 
young  man,  with  a  glance  at  him  in  which  malice  and  love 
were  mingled.  The  brows  of  both  grew  lighter,  a  flush  of 
joy  overspread  their  excited  faces,  innumerable  contending 
thoughts  arose  in  their  minds.  Mme.  du  Gua's  glance  seemed 
to  say  that  she  attributed  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  generosity  rather 
to  love  than  to  charity,  and  she  was  certainly  quite  right. 
The  fair  traveler  flushed  up  in  the  first  instance,  and  modestly 
lowered  her  eyelids,  as  she  gathered  the  meaning  of  that  fem- 
inine glance ;  but  she  raised  her  head  proudly  under  the  men- 
acing accusation,  and  defiantly  met  all  eyes.  Meanwhile,  the 
petrified  commandant  handed  back  her  letter,  countersigned 
by  ministers,  and  enjoining  all  persons  in  authority  to  obey  the 
orders  of  the  mysterious  bearer ;  but  he  drew  his  sword  from  its 
sheath,  broke  it  over  his  knee,  and  flung  down  the  fragments. 

"Mademoiselle,  you  probably  know  what  you  are  about; 
but  a  Republiean  has  his  own  ideas  and  a  pride  of  his  own,  and 
I  have  not  yet  learned  to  take  my  orders  from  a  pretty  woman. 
The  First  Consul  will  receive  my  resignation  to-night,  and 
another  than  Hulot  will  obey  you.  When  I  do  not  under- 
stand a  matter,  I  will  not  stir  in  it,  especially  if  I  am  supposed 
to  understand  it  and  cannot." 


READ     IT,"     SHE     SAID,     WITH      A     SARCASTIC     SMILE. 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCH&S.  99 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  soon  broken  by  the  young 
Parisian  lady,  who  went  up  to  the  commandant,  held  out  her 
hand, and  said — 

"  Colonel,  although  your  beard  is  rather  long,  you  may  give 
me  a  kiss.     You  are  a  man  !  " 

*'  So  I  trust,  mademoiselle,"  he  answered,  as  he  awkwardly 
pressed  his  lips  to  the  hand  of  this  strange  girl.  **  As  for  you, 
comrade,"  and  he  pointed  his  finger  at  him,  "you  have  had 
a  narrow  escape." 

"The  joke  has  gone  quite  far  enough,  commandant;  if 
you  like,  I  will  go  to  the  district  headquarters  with  you,"  said 
the  laughing  stranger. 

"  And  bring  that  invisible  whistler  Marche-a-Terre  along 
with  you." 

"Marche-a-Terre — who  is  that?"  asked  the  sailor,  with 
every  sign  of  genuine  surprise. 

"  Did  not  some  one  whistle  a  minute  ago?  " 

"If  they  did,"  said  the  other,  "what  has  that  to  do  with 
me,  I  wonder?  I  thought  that  your  men,  brought  here  no 
doubt  to  arrest  me,  were  warning  you  of  their  approach." 

"  Was  that  really  what  you  thought?" 

"Eh,  mon  Dieu !  Yes.  Drink  your  glass  of  Bordeaux; 
it  is  delicious." 

Perplexed  by  the  sailor's  astonishment,  by  the  levity  of  his 
manner,  and  the  almost  childish  appearance  of  his  face,  with 
its  carefully  curled  fair  hair,  the  commandant's  mind  hesitated 
among  endless  suspicions.  He  noticed  Madame  du  Gua,  who 
was  trying  to  read  the  secret  of  her  son's  glances  at  Mile,  de 
Verneuil,  and  suddenly  asked  her — 

"  Your  age,  citoyenne  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  the  laws  of  our  Republic  are  growing  very  merci- 
less. Monsieur  I'Officier ;  I  am  thirty-eight  years  old,"  she 
replied, 

"  May  I  be  shot  if  I  believe  a  word  of  it.  Marche-d-Terre 
is  about ;  I  heard  him  whistle,  and  you  are  Chouans  in  dis- 


100  THE   CHOUANS. 

guise.      Tonnerre  de  Dieu  /    I  will  have  the  inn  surrounded 
and  searched." 

A  whistle  not  unlike  the  sound  he  spoke  of  interrupted  the 
commandant's  speech.  It  came  from  the  courtyard.  Fortu- 
nately, Hulot  hurried  into  the  corridor,  and  did  not  notice 
the  pallor  that  overspread  Madame  duGua's  face  at  the  words. 
When  Hulot  beheld  the  whistler,  a  postilion  harnessing  his 
horses  to  the  coach,  his  suspicions  were  allayed.  It  seemed 
to  him  so  absurd  that  Chouans  should  risk  themselves  in  the 
midst  of  Alen^on  that  he  returned  in  confusion. 

"  I  forgive  him,  but  some  day  he  shall  pay  dear  for  the 
moments  he  has  made  us  spend  here,"  said  the  mother  gravely, 
whispering  to  her  son,  and  at  that  instant  Hulot  came  into  the 
room  again.  The  brave  officer  clearly  showed  on  his  embar- 
rassed face  the  expression  of  a  mental  struggle  between  the 
rigorous  claims  of  duty  and  his  own  natural  good  nature.  He 
still  looked  surly,  perhaps  because  he  thought  that  he  had 
been  mistaken,  but  he  took  the  glass  of  Bordeaux  and 
said — 

"Excuse  me,  comrade;  but  if  your  school  sends  out  such 
youngsters  for  officers " 

"Are  there  not  still  younger  ones  among  the  brigands?  " 
asked  the  so-called  sailor,  laughing. 

"For  whom  did  you  take  my  son?"  asked  Mme.  du 
Gua. 

"  For  the  Gars,  the  leader  sent  over  to  the  Chouans  and 
Vendeans  by  the  English  ministry,  and  whose  style  is  the 
Marquis  of  Montauran." 

As  he  spoke  the  commandant  still  kept  a  close  watch  on  the 
faces  of  the  two  suspected  persons.  They  looked  at  each 
other  with  the  peculiar  expressions  which  two  presumptuous 
and  ignorant  people  might  assume  successively,  and  which 
might  be  translated  by  this  dialogue  :  "  Do  you  know  what 
this  means?"— "No;  do  you?"— "Not  a  bit  of  it." — 
"  What  does  he  mean  to  say?" — "He  is  dreaming," — and 


A   NOTION   OF  FOUCH^'S.  101 

there  followed  the  mocking  jeer  of  folly,  which  thinks  itself 
triumphant. 

The  mention  of  the  Royalist  general's  name  wrought  in 
Marie  de  Verneuil's  manners  and  unconcern  a  sudden  altera- 
tion, which  was  only  visible  to  Francine,  the  one  person 
present  who  could  read  the  almost  imperceptible  shades  of 
expression  on  that  young  face.  Completely  baffled,  the  com- 
mandant picked  up  the  two  pieces  of  his  sword,  and  looked 
at  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  The  warmth  and  excitement  in  her 
face  had  succeeded  in  stirring  his  own  feelings ;  he  said — 

"As  for  you,  mademoiselle,  I  shall  stick  to  my  word,  and 
to-morrow  the  fragments  of  my  sword  shall  return  to  Bona- 
parte, unless 

"Eh  !  What  have  I  to  do  with  your  Bonapartes  and  your 
Republics,  your  Chouans,  your  King,  and  your  Gars?  "  cried 
she,  repressing  with  some  difficulty  an  outburst  of  temper 
which  would  have  been  in  very  poor  taste. 

A  strange  excitement  or  waywardness  brought  a  brilliant 
color  to  her  face ;  it  was  clear  that  the  whole  world  would 
become  as  nothing  to  this  young  girl  from  the  moment  when 
she  singled  out  one  living  creature  in  it  from  all  others.  But 
suddenly  she  forced  herself  to  be  calm  again,  finding  that  all 
eyes  were  turned  upon  her  as  upon  a  principal  personage. 
The  commandant  rose  abruptly.  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  anxious 
and  disturbed,  followed  him,  stopped  him  in  the  passage  out- 
side, and  asked  him  in  earnest  tones — 

"  Had  you  really  very  strong  reason  for  suspecting  this 
young  man  to  be  the  Gars  ?  " 

"  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  f  That  popinjay  who  came  along  with 
you,  mademoiselle,  had  just  told  me  that  the  travelers  and 
courier  had  all  been  murdered  by  the  Chouans,  which  I  knew 
already  ;  but  I  did  not  know  that  the  name  of  the  dead  trav- 
elers was  du  Gua  Saint-Cyr  !  " 

"  Oh,  if  Corentin  is  mixed  up  in  it,  I  am  not  surprised  at 
anything  any  longer,"  she  said,  with  a  gesture  of  disgust. 


102  THE   CHOUANS. 

The  commandant  withdrew,  not  daring  to  look  at  Mile,  de 
Verneuil,  whose  dangerous  beauty  had  already  perturbed  his 
heart. 

"  If  I  had  stayed  there  for  ten  more  minutes,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  went  downstairs,  '*  I  should  have  been  fool  enough 
to  pick  up  my  sword  again  to  escort  her." 

Mme.  du  Gua  saw  how  the  young  man's  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  door  through  which  Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  made  her  exit, 
and  spoke  in  his  ear — 

**  It  is  always  the  same  with  you  !  You  will  only  come  to 
your  end  through  some  woman  or  other.  The  sight  of  a 
doll  makes  you  forget  everything  else.  Why  did  you  allow 
her  to  breakfast  with  us  ?  What  sort  of  demoiselle  de  Ver- 
neuil can  she  be  who  accepts  invitations  to  breakfast  with 
strangers,  has  an  escort  of  Blues,  and  countermands  them  by 
a  paper  kept  in  reserve  in  her  spencer  like  a  love-letter  ?  She 
is  one  of  those  vile  creatures,  by  means  of  whom  Fouch6 
thinks  to  entrap  you,  and  that  letter  which  she  produced 
authorized  her  to  make  use  of  the  Blues  against  you." 

"Really,  madame,"  said  the  young  man  in  a  sharp  tone 
that  cut  the  lady  to  the  heart  and  made  her  cheeks  turn  white, 
"  her  generosity  is  a  flat  contradiction  to  your  theories.  Be 
careful  to  remember  that  we  are  only  brought  together  by  the 
interests  of  the  King.  Can  the  universe  be  other  than  a  void 
for  you,  who  have  had  Charette  at  your  feet  ?  Could  you  live 
any  longer  save  to  avenge  him  ?  " 

The  lady  stood  lost  in  thought,  like  a  man  who  watches  the 
shipwreck  of  his  fortunes  from  the  strand,  and  only  feels  a 
stronger  craving  for  his  lost  riches. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  came  back  and  exchanged  with  the  young 
man  a  smile  and  a  look  of  gentle  raillery.  The  prophecies 
of  hope  were  the  more  flattering  because  the  future  seemed  so 
uncertain,  and  the  time  that  they  might  spend  together  so 
very  brief. 

The  glance,  however  rapid  it  might  be,  was  not  lost  on 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCHiPS.  103 

Mme.  du  Gua's  discerning  eyes.  She  saw  what  it  meant,  and 
her  brow  slightly  contracted  at  once ;  her  jealous  thoughts 
could  not  be  kept  entirely  unexpressed  by  her  face.  Francine 
was  studying  this  woman  ;  she  saw  her  eyes  sparkle  and  the 
color  glow  in  her  cheeks;  a  fiendish  inspiration  seemed  to 
animate  her  face  \  she  seemed  to  be  in  the  throes  of  some 
horrible  convulsion ;  but  this  passed  like  a  flash  across  her 
features,  lightning  could  not  be  more  rapid,  nor  death  more 
swift.  Mme.  du  Gua  resumed  her  apparent  sprightliness  with 
such  ready  self-command  that  Francine  thought  she  had  been 
dreaming.  For  all  that,  she  trembled  as  she  discerned  in  the 
woman  before  her  a  nature  at  least  as  vehement  as  Mile,  de 
Verneuil's,  and  foresaw  the  alarming  collisions  that  were  sure 
to  come  to  pass  between  two  minds  of  this  temper.  She  shud" 
dered  again  when  she  saw  Mile,  de  Verneuil  go  up  to  the 
young  officer,  fling  at  him  one  of  those  passionate  glances 
that  intoxicate,  and  draw  him  by  both  hands  towards  the 
window,  with  mischievous  coquetry. 

"Now,"  said  she,  as  she  tried  to  read  his  eyes,  "confess 
to  me  that  you  are  not  the  citizen  du  Gua  Saint-Cyr?" 

"Yes;  I  am,  mademoiselle." 

"  But  both  he  and  his  mother  were  murdered  the  day  before 
yesterday ! ' ' 

"I  am  extremely  sorry,"  he  answered,  smiling  at  her;  "  but 
however  that  may  be,  I  am  none  the  less  obliged  to  you.  I 
shall  always  remember  you  with  deep  gratitude,  and  I  wish 
that  I  were  in  a  position  to  prove  it." 

"  I  thought  I  had  saved  an  emigrant ;  but  I  like  you  better 
as  a  Republican." 

.  She  became  embarrassed  at  the  words,  which  seemed  to 
have  heedlessly  dropped  from  her.  Her  lips  grew  redder. 
There  was  nothing  in  her  face  but  a  delightfully  artless  revela- 
tion of  her  feelings.  Softly  she  dropped  the  young  officer's 
hands,  not  through  bashfulness  because  she  had  pressed  them, 
but  impelled  by  a  thought  within  her  heart  well-nigh  too 


104  THE   CHOUANS. 

heavy  to  bear.  And  so  she  left  him  intoxicated  by  his  hopes. 
Then,  quite  suddenly,  she  seemed  to  repent  within  herself  of 
this  freedom,  although  these  passing  adventures  of  travel 
might  seem  to  justify  it.  She  stood  once  more  on  ceremony, 
took  leave  of  her  traveling  companions,  and  vanished  with 
Francine. 

When  they  had  reached  their  room,  Francine  locked  her 
fingers  together,  and  turned  out  the  palms  of  her  outstretched 
hands,  twisting  her  arms  to  do  so,  as  she  looked  at  her  mis- 
tress, saying,  "Ah,  Marie!  how  many  things  have  happened 
in  such  a  short  time !  There  is  no  one  like  you  for  these 
goings-on." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  sprang  to  Francine  and  put  her  arms 
round  her  neck. 

"  This  is  life  !  "  she  cried.     "  I  am  in  heaven  !  " 

"Or  in  hell,  maybe,"  Francine  answered. 

"Yes — hell,  if  you  like  !  "  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  merrily. 
**  Here,  give  me  your  hand  ;  feel  how  my  pulse  beats  !  I  am 
in  a  fever.  Little  matters  all  the  world  to  me  now  !  How 
often  have  I  not  seen  him  in  my  dreams  !  What  a  fine  head 
that  is  of  his,  and  how  his  eyes  sparkle  !  " 

"But  will  he  love  you?  "  asked  the  peasant  girl  with  direct 
simplicity.  Her  voice  faltered,  and  her  face  took  a  sober 
expression. 

"Can  you  ask?"  replied  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  "Now  tell 
me,  Francine,"  she  added,  striking  a  half-comic,  half-tragical 
attitude  before  her,  "  would  he  be  so  very  hard  to  please?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  will  the  love  last  ?  "  Francine  answered,  smiling. 

For  a  moment  the  two  remained  struck  dumb — Francine 
because  she  had  disclosed  so  much  knowledge  of  life,  and 
Marie  because,  for  the  first  time  in  her  existence,  she  beheld 
a  prospect  of  happiness  in  a  love  affair.  She  was  leaning,  as 
it  were,  over  a  precipice;  and  would  fain  try  its  depths, 
waiting  for  the  sound  of  the  pebble  that  she  had  thrown  over, 
and,  in  the  first  instance,  had  thrown  heedlessly. 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCH&'S.  105 

"Ah,  that  is  my  business,"  she  said  with  the  gesture  of  a 
desperate  gambler.  *'  I  have  no  compassion  for  a  woman 
who  is  cast  off;  she  has  only  herself  to  blame  for  her  desertion. 
Once  in  my  keeping,  I  shall  know  how  to  retain  a  man's 
heart  through  life  and  death."  There  was  a  moment's  pause, 
and  she  added  in  a  tone  of  surprise,  **  But  how  did  you  come 
by  so  much  experience,  Francine?" 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  the  young  countrywoman  eagerly, 
**  I  can  hear  footsteps  in  the  corridor " 

"Ah,  not  his,^^  said  the  other,  listening  for  them.  "So 
that  is  the  way  you  answer  me  !  I  understand  you.  I  shall 
wait  for  your  secret,  or  I  shall  guess  it." 

Francine  was  right.  Three  raps  on  the  door  interrupted 
their  conversation,  and  Captain  Merle  soon  showed  his  face 
after  he  heard  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  invitation  to  enter.  The 
captain  made  a  military  salute,  ventured  a  sidelong  glance  at 
Mile,  de  Verneuil,  and  dazzled  by  the  beautiful  woman  before 
him,  could  find  nothing  else  to  say  than,  "I  am  at  your 
orders,  mademoiselle." 

"So  you  have  become  my  protector  on  the  resignation  of 
your  chief  of  demi-brigade.  Is  not  that  what  your  regiment 
is  called?" 

"  My  superior  officer,  Adjutant-Major  Gerard,  sent  me  to 
you." 

"  So  your  commandant  is  afraid  of  me  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  mademoiselle,  Hulot  is  not  afraid  ; 
but  ladies  are  not  much  in  his  line,  you  see,  and  it  rather  put 
him  out  to  find  his  general  wearing  a  mutch." 

"  It  was  his  duty  to  obey  his  superiors  for  all  that,"  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  replied.  "I  have  a  liking  for  subordination — ^I 
give  you  warning — and  I  do  not  like  resistance  to  my  au- 
thority." 

"It  would  be  difficult,"  said  Merle. 

"Let  us  talk  things  over,"  Mile,  de  Verneuil  continued. 
"  Your  troops  here  are  fresh  ;  they  will  escort  me  to  Mayenne, 


J06  THE  CHOUANS. 

which  I  can  reach  to-night.  Could  we  find  fresh  soldiers 
there  so  as  to  set  out  at  once  without  a  halt?  The  Chouans 
do  not  know  of  our  little  expedition.  If  we  travel  at  night 
in  this  way,  we  should  have  to  be  very  unlucky  indeed  to  meet 
with  them  in  numbers  sufficient  to  attack  us.  Let  us  see  now ; 
tell  me  if  you  think  the  plan  feasible  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  mademoiselle." 

"  How  are  the  roads  between  Mayenne  and  Foug^res?" 

"  Rough  ;  and  there  are  everlasting  ups  and  downs — a  reg- 
ular squirrel-track." 

"Let  us  be  off  at  once  !  "  said  she;  "and  as  we  have  no 
dangers  to  fear  on  the  outskirts  of  Alen^on,  set  out  first,  and 
we  will  soon  overtake  you." 

"One  might  think  she  had  been  ten  years  in  command," 
said  Merle  to  himself  as  he  went  out.  "  Hulot  was  wrong 
about  her ;  that  girl  is  not  one  of  the  sort  that  make  their 
living  from  feather  beds.  Mille  cartouches  !  If  Captain  Merle 
means  to  be  Adjutant-Major  some  day,  I  advise  him  not  to 
take  St.  Michael  for  the  devil." 

Whilst  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  taking  counsel  with  the  cap- 
tain, Francine  slipped  out,  intending  to  inspect  from  a  corri- 
dor window  a  spot  in  the  courtyard  which  had  attracted  her 
curiosity  ever  since  her  arrival  in  the  inn.  So  rapt  was  her 
gaze  upon  the  heap  of  straw  in  the  stable,  that  any  one  might 
have  thought  her  engaged  in  prayer  before  the  shrine  of  the 
Holy  Virgin.  Very  soon  she  saw  Mme.  du  Gua  picking  her 
way  towards  Marche-a-Terre  with  all  the  caution  of  a  cat  that 
tries  not  to  wet  its  paws.  At  sight  of  the  lady  the  Chouan 
rose  and  stood  most  respectfully  before  her.  This  strange 
occurrence  revived  Francine's  curiosity.  She  sprang  out  into 
the  yard,  gliding  along  by  the  wall  so  that  Mme.  du  Gua 
should  not  see  her,  and  tried  to  hide  herself  behind  the  stable- 
door.  She  held  her  breath,  and  walked  on  tiptoe,  trying 
not  to  make  the  slightest  sound,  and  succeeded  in  placing  her- 
self close  to  March-a-Terre  without  attracting  his  attention. 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCH&'S.  107 

**  And  if,  after  you  have  made  all  these  inquiries,  you  find 
that  that  is  not  her  name,"  said  the  stranger  lady  to  the 
Chouan,  "you  will  shoot  her  down  without  mercy,  as  if  she 
were  a  mad  dog." 

"I  understand,"  said  Marche-a-Terre. 

The  lady  returned  to  the  inn  as  she  had  come ;  the  Chouan 
put  his  red  woolen  cap  on  his  head  again,  and  stood  scratch- 
ing his  ear  like  a  man  in  doubt,  when  he  saw  Francine  start 
up  before  him  as  if  by  magic. 

"Saint  Anne  of  Auray !  "  cried  he,  suddenly  dropping  his 
whip,  he  clasped  his  hands  and  stood  enraptured.  A  faint, 
red  flush  lit  up  his  rough  face,  and  his  eyes  shone  out  like 
diamonds  in  the  mud. 

"  Is  that  really  Cottin's  lass?"  he  asked  in  a  stifled  voice, 
audible  to  himself  alone.  "Aren't  you  just  grand  !  "  {godaine) 
he  went  on  after  a  pause.  This  rather  odd  word,  godain, 
godaine,  in  the  patois  of  the  country,  serves  rustic  wooers  to 
express  the  highest  possible  admiration  of  a  combination  of 
beauty  and  finery. 

"I  am  afraid  to  touch  you,"  Marche-a-Terre  added  ;  but, 
nevertheless,  he  stretched  out  his  big  hand  to  Francine  to 
ascertain  the  weight  of  a  thick  gold  chain  which  wound  about 
her  throat,  and  hung  down  to  her  waist. 

"  You  had  better  not,  Pierre  !  "  Francine  said,  inspired  by 
the  woman's  instinct  to  tyrannize  wherever  she  is  not  op- 
pressed. Francine  drew  back  with  much  dignity  after  enjoy- 
ing the  Chouan's  surprise ;  but  there  was  plenty  of  kindliness 
in  her  looks  to  make  up  for  her  hard  words.  She  came  nearer 
again.  "Pierre,"  she  went  on,  "was  not  that  lady  talking 
to  you  about  the  young  lady,  my  mistress?  " 

Marche-a-Terre  stood  in  silence  \  his  face,  like  the  dawn, 
was  a  struggle  between  light  and  darkness.  He  looked  first 
at  Francine,  then  at  the  great  whip  that  he  had  dropped,  and 
finally,  back  at  the  gold  chain,  which  seemed  to  have  for  him 
an  attraction  quite  as  powerful  as  the   face  of  the   Breton 


108  THE   CHOUANS. 

maid ;  then,  as  if  to  put  an  end  to  his  perplexities,  he  picked 
up  his  whip  again,  and  uttered  not  a  word. 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  difficult  to  guess  that  the  lady  has  ordered 
you  to  kill  my  mistress,"  Francine  continued.  She  knew  the 
scrupulous  loyalty  of  the  gars,  and  wished  to  overcome  his 
hesitation.  Marche-a-Terre  nodded  significantly.  For  "  Cot- 
tin's  lass,"  this  was  an  answer. 

"  Very  well  then,  Pierre,  if  anything  should  happen  to 
her,  no  matter  how  slight,  or  if  you  should  take  so  much  as  a 
hair  of  her  head,  we  shall  have  seen  each  other  for  the  last 
time ;  and  we  shall  not  even  meet  in  eternity,  for  I  shall  be 
in  Paradise,  and  you  will  go  to  hell  !  " 

No  demoniac  exorcised  by  the  offices  of  the  Church  per- 
formed in  pomp  in  the  days  of  yore  could  have  shown  more 
terror  than  Marche-a-Terre  at  this  prophecy,  uttered  with  a 
conviction  that  went  far  to  assure  him  that  it  would  really 
come  to  pass.  The  uncouth  tenderness  revealed  in  his  first 
glances  now  struggled  with  a  fanatical  sense  of  duty  every 
whit  as  exacting  as  love  itself.  He  looked  savage  all  at  once 
as  he  noticed  the  air  of  authority  assumed  by  his  innocent 
former  sweetheart.  Francine  explained  the  Chouan's  glum- 
ness  in  her  own  fashion. 

**  So  you  will  do  nothing  for  me?  "  she  said  in  a  reproach- 
ful tone.  The  Chouan  gave  his  sweetheart  a  look,  black  as 
the  raven's  wing,  at  the  words. 

"Are  you  your  own  mistress?"  asked  he,  in  a  growl  that 
no  one  but  Francine  could  hear. 

"Should  I  be  here  if  I  were?"  she  asked  indignantly. 
"  But  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  Still  Chouanning  and  scour- 
ing the  roads  like  a  mad  animal  looking  for  some  one  to 
bite.  Oh,  Pierre,  if  you  were  reasonable  you  would  come 
with  me.  This  pretty  young  lady,  who,  I  may  tell  you, 
was  brought  up  in  our  house  at  home,  has  taken  charge  of 
me.  I  have  two  hundred  livres  invested  income;  mad- 
emoiselle gave  five  hundred  crowns  to  buy  my  uncle  Thomas* 


A   A'OTION  OF  FOUCHi:S.  109 

big  house  for  me,  and  I  have  two  thousand  livres  of  savings 
besides." 

But  her  smile  and  the  enumeration  of  her  riches  failed  of 
their  effect :  she  still  confronted  Marche-a-Terre*s  inscrutable 
gaze. 

"The  rectors  have  told  us  to  fight,"  he  replied.  "There 
is  an  indulgence  for  every  Blue  that  drops." 

"  But  perhaps  the  Blues  will  kill  you  !  " 

He  let  his  arms  fall  at  his  sides  by  way  of  reply,  as  if  he 
regretted  the  meagreness  of  his  sacrifice  for  God  and  the 
King.  "And  then  what  would  become  of  me?"  the  girl 
went  on  sadly. 

Marche-a-Terre  looked  at  Francine  like  a  man  bereft  of  his 
faculties.  His  eyes  seemed  to  dilate,  two  tears  stole  down 
his  rough  cheeks  and  rolled  in  parallel  lines  over  his  goatskin 
raiment,  a  hollow  groan  came  from  his  chest. 

"  Saint  Anne  of  Auray  !  is  that  all  you  will  say  to  me, 
Pierre,  after  we  have  been  parted  for  seven  years?  How 
changed  you  are  !  " 

"My  love  is  always  the  same,"  the  Chouan  broke  out  in 
gruff  tones. 

"  No,"  she  murmured ;  "  the  King  comes  before  me." 

"  I  shall  go,"  he  said,  "  if  you  look  at  me  in  that  way." 

"  Very  well  then,  good-bye,"  she  said  sadly. 

"Good-bye,"  echoed  Marche-a-Terre.  He  seized  Fran- 
cine's  hand,  pressed  it  in  his  own  and  kissed  it,  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  and  escaped  into  the  stable  like  some  dog 
that  has  just  purloined  a  bone. 

"Pille-Miche,"  he  called  to  his  comrade,  "I  cannot  see  a 
bit.     Have  you  your  snuff-box  about  you  ?  " 

"Oh!  ere  bleu,  what  a  fine  chain!"  said  Pille-Miche, 
fumbling  in  a  pocket  contrived  in  his  goatskin.  He  held  out 
to  Marche-a-Terre  a  little  conical  snuff-box,  made  out  of  a 
cow's-horn,  in  which  Bretons  keep  the  snuff  that  they  grind 
for  themselves   in  the   long  winter  evenings.     The  Chouan 


110  THE   CHOUANS. 

raised  his  thumb  so  as  to  make  a  cup-shaped  hollow  in  his  left 
hand,  as  pensioners  are  wont  to  do  when  measuring  their 
pinches  of  snuff,  and  shook  the  horn  into  it  vigorously,  Pille- 
Miche  having  unscrewed  the  nozzle.  A  fine  dust  was  slowly 
shaken  from  the  tiny  hole  at  the  end  of  this  Breton  appurte- 
nance. March e-a-Terre  repeated  this  feat  seven  or  eight  times 
in  silence,  as  if  the  powder  possessed  some  virtue  for  changing 
the  current  of  his  thoughts.  Then  with  a  sudden  involuntary 
gesture  of  despair,  he  flung  the  snuff-box  to  Pille-Miche  and 
picked  up  a  carbine  that  lay  hidden  in  the  straw. 

**  There  is  no  use  in  taking  seven  or  eight  pinches  at  a  time 
like  that !  "  said  the  niggardly  Pille-Miche. 

"Forward!"  cried  March  e-a-Terre  hoarsely.  "There  is 
some  work  for  us  to  do."  Some  thirty  Chouans,  who  were 
sleeping  under  the  hay  racks  and  in  the  straw,  raised  their 
heads  at  this ;  and  seeing  Marche-a-Terre  standing,  vanished 
forthwith  through  a  door  which  led  into  some  gardens  whence 
they  could  reach  the  open  country. 

When  Francine  left  the  stable  she  found  the  mail-coach 
ready  to  start.  Mille.  de  Verneuil  and  her  two  traveling  com- 
panions were  seated  in  it  already.  The  Breton  girl  shuddered 
to  see  her  mistress  in  the  coach  with,  at  her  side,  the  woman 
who  had  just  given  orders  to  kill  her.  The  "suspect"  had 
placed  himself  opposite  Marie,  and  as  soon  as  Francine  took 
her  seat  the  heavy  coach  set  out  with  all  speed. 

The  gray  clouds  had  vanished  before  the  autumn  sunlight, 
which  brought  a  certain  revival  of  gladness  to  the  melancholy 
fields,  as  though  the  year  were  yet  young.  Many  a  pair  of 
lovers  read  an  augury  in  these  signs  in  the  sky.  Silence 
prevailed  among  the  travelers  at  first,  to  Francine's  great  sur- 
prise. Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  returned  to  her  former  reserve ; 
she  kept  her  head  slightly  bent  and  her  eyes  downcast,  while 
her  hands  were  hidden  under  a  sort  of  cloak  in  which  she  had 
wrapped  herself.  If  she  raised  her  eyes  at  all,  it  was  to  look 
at  the  changing  landscape  as  she  was  whirled  through  it.    She 


A   NOTION   OF  F0UCH£'S.  Ill 

was  secure  of  admiration,  and  was  declining  to  take  any  notice 
of  it,  but  her  indifference  seemed  scarcely  genuine,  and  sug" 
gested  coquetry.  There  is  a  certain  touching  purity  which 
dominates  every  fleeting  phase  of  expression  by  which  weaker 
souls  reveal  themselves,  but  there  was  no  charm  of  this  kind 
about  this  being,  whose  highly-wrought  temperament  had 
marked  her  out  for  the  storms  of  passion.  The  stranger  oppo- 
site was  as  yet  altogether  taken  up  with  the  delights  of  a 
newly-begun  flirtation,  and  did  not  try  to  reconcile  the  incon- 
sistencies in  this  extraordinary  girl — a  lofty  enthusiast  and  a 
coquette.  Did  not  her  feigned  serenity  give  him  a  chance  to 
study  her  face  at  his  leisure,  rendered  as  beautiful  now  by 
repose  as  before  by  excitement  ?  We  are  not  very  apt  to  find 
fault  with  anything  that  gives  us  pleasure. 

In  a  coach  it  is  not  easy  for  a  pretty  woman  to  avoid  the 
eyes  of  her  fellow-travelers ;  they  turn  to  her  in  search  of 
one  more  relief  from  the  tedium  of  the  journey.  The  young 
ofl&cer  therefore  took  a  pleasure  in  studying  the  striking  and 
clear-cut  outlines  of  her  face,  delighted  to  satisfy  the  cravings 
of  a  growing  passion  by  gazing  at  her  as  at  a  picture,  without 
giving  annoyance  by  his  persistence  or  causing  the  fair 
stranger  to  avoid  his  glances. 

Sometimes  the  daylight  brought  out  the  transparent  rose- 
hues  of  her  nostrils,  and  the  double  curves  that  lie  between 
the  nose  and  the  upper  lip ;  or  a  faint  sunbeam  would  shed 
its  light  upon  every  shade  of  color  in  her  face,  on  the  pearly 
white  about  her  mouth  and  eyes,  growing  to  a  dead  ivory  tint 
at  her  throat  and  temples,  and  the  rose-red  in  her  cheeks. 
He  watched  admiringly  the  contrasts  of  the  light  and  shadow 
underneath  the  masses  of  dark  hair  about  her  face,  which  lent 
to  it  one  more  transient  grace ;  for  everything  is  transient 
about  woman,  her  yesterday's  beauty  is  not  the  beauty  ct 
to-day,  and  this  is  lucky,  perhaps,  for  her. 

The  sailor,  as  he  called  himself,  was  still  at  an  age  when  a 
man  finds  bliss  in  the  nothings  that  make  up  the  whole  of 


112  THE   CHOUANS. 

love ;  he  watched  with  pleasure  the  incessant  movements  of 
her  eyelids ;  the  rise  and  fall  of  her  bodice  as  she  breathed 
fascinated  him.  Sometimes  his  fancy  led  him  to  detect  a 
connection  between  the  expression  of  her  eyes  and  a  scarcely 
discernible  movement  of  her  lips.  For  him  every  gesture  was 
a  revelation  of  the  young  girl's  nature,  every  movement 
showed  her  to  him  in  some  new  aspect.  Some  thought  or 
other  flickered  over  the  rapidly  changing  features,  a  sudden 
flush  of  color  overspread  them,  or  they  glowed  with  life  as  she 
smiled ;  and  he  would  find  inexpressible  pleasure  in  the 
attempt  to  penetrate  the  secret  thoughts  of  the  mysterious 
woman  before  him.  Everything  about  her  was  a  snare,  alike 
for  the  senses  and  the  soul.  The  silence,  so  far  from  being  a 
hindrance  to  an  intimate  understanding,  was  forging  a  chain 
of  thought  to  unite  them  both.  After  several  encounters  with 
the  stranger's  glances  Marie  de  Verneuil  saw  that  this  silence 
would  compromise  her ;  so  she  turned  to  Mme.  du  Gua  with 
one  of  those  banal  questions  that  serve  to  open  a  conversation  ; 
but  even  then  she  could  not  help  bringing  in  a  mention  of  the 
lady's  son. 

**  How  could  you  bring  yourself  to  put  your  son  into  the 
navy,  madame?"  said  she.  "Do  you  not  condemn  yourself 
to  a  life  of  constant  anxiety?  " 

"  Mademoiselle,  it  is  the  lot  of  women — of  mothers,  I 
mean — to  tremble  constantly  for  their  dearest  treasures," 

"Your  son  is  very  like  you." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

This  serene  acceptance  of  Mme.  du  Gua's  statement  as  to 
her  age  made  the  young  man  smile,  and  provoked  a  new 
malignity  in  his  supposed  mother.  Every  glowing  look  that 
her  son  bent  on  Marie  increased  her  hatred.  Both  the  silence 
and  the  talk  inflamed  her  anger  to  a  fearful  pitch,  though  it 
was  concealed  beneath  a  most  amiable  manner. 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  stranger ; 
**  the  navy  is  not  more  exposed  to  danger  than  the  other  ser- 


A  NOTION   OF  FOUCH£rS.  113 

vice.  Women  ought  not  to  dislike  the  navy,  for  have  we  not 
one  immense  superiority  over  the  land  forces  in  that  we  are 
always  faithful  to  our  mistresses?  " 

"  Yes,  because  you  cannot  help  it,"  laughed  Mile,  de 
Verneuil. 

*'  But  it  is  faithfulness  at  any  rate,"  said  Mme.  du  Gua,  in 
an  almost  melancholy  voice. 

The  conversation  grew  more  and  more  lively,  turning  up>on 
matters  which  were  only  interesting  to  the  three  travelers. 
Under  circumstances  of  this  kind  people  with  active  minds 
are  apt  to  give  new  significances  to  commonplace  utterances ; 
but  beneath  the  apparently  frivolous  cross-fire  of  questions  with 
which  these  two  amused  themselves,  the  feverish  hopes  and 
desires  that  stirred  in  them  lay  concealed,  Marie  was  never 
off  her  guard,  displaying  a  tact  and  astute  shrewdness  which 
taught  Mme.  du  Gua  that  only  by  employing  treachery  and 
slander  could  she  look  to  triumph  over  a  rival  whose  wit  was 
as  formidable  as  her  beauty. 

The  travelers  overtook  the  escort,  and  the  coach  went  less 
rapidly  on  its  way.  The  young  sailor  saw  that  there  was  a 
long  hill  to  climb,  and  proposed  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil  that 
they  should  alight  and  walk.  The  young  man's  friendly 
politeness  and  courteous  tact  had  its  effect  on  the  fair  Parisian ; 
he  felt  her  consent  to  be  a  compliment. 

"Are  you  of  the  same  opinion,  madame ? "  she  asked  of 
Mme.  du  Gua.      "  Will  you  not  join  our  walk?  " 

"  Coquette  !  "  exclaimed  the  lady  as  she  alighted. 

Marie  and  the  stranger  walked  together,  and  yet  asunder. 
He  already  felt  himself  mastered  by  vehement  desires,  and 
was  eager  to  break  through  the  reserve  with  which  she  treated 
him — a  reserve  that  did  not  deceive  him  in  the  least.  He 
thought  to  succeed  in  this  by  bringing  his  lively  conversational 
powers  to  bear  upon  his  companion,  with  the  debonair  gaiety 
of  old  France,  that  is  sometimes  light-hearted,  sometimes 
earnest,  readily  moved  to  laughter,  but  always  chivalrous — 
8 


114  THE   CHOUANS. 

the  spirit  that  distinguished  the  prominent  men  among  the 
exiled  aristocracy.  But  the  lively  Parisian  lady  met  his 
attempts  at  frivolity  in  so  disdainful  a  humor,  rallied  him 
with  such  malicious  reproaches,  and  showed  so  marked  a 
preference  for  the  bold  and  elevated  ideas  that  passed  into  his 
talk  in  spite  of  himself,  that  he  soon  perceived  the  way  to 
please  her. 

So  the  conversation  took  another  turn.  The  stranger 
thenceforward  fulfilled  the  promises  made  by  his  eloquent 
face.  Every  moment  he  found  new  difficulties  in  understand- 
ing this  siren,  who  was  captivating  him  more  and  more ;  and 
was  compelled  to  suspend  his  judgment  upon  a  girl  who  took 
a  capricious  delight  in  contradicting  each  conclusion  that  he 
formed  concerning  her.  The  mere  sight  of  her  beauty  had 
carried  him  away  in  the  first  instance,  and  now  he  felt  him- 
self strongly  drawn  towards  this  strange  soul  by  a  curiosity 
which  Marie  herself  took  pleasure  in  stimulating.  Uncon- 
sciously their  converse  assumed  a  more  intimate  character ; 
the  indifferent  tone  which  Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  unsuccess- 
fully tried  to  give  to  it  had  disappeared  entirely. 

Although  Mme.  du  Gua  had  followed  the  lover-like  pair, 
they  had  unwittingly  walked  faster  than  she  did,  and  soon 
found  themselves  about  a  hundred  paces  ahead  of  her.  The 
two  picturesque  beings  were  treading  the  sandy  road,  absorbed 
in  the  childish  pleasure  of  hearing  their  light  footsteps  sound- 
ing together,  pleased  that  the  same  spring-like  rays  of  sunlight 
should  envelope  them  both,  glad  to  breathe  the  same  air  with 
the  autumn  scent  of  fallen  leaves  in  it,  which  seemed  to  be 
a  nourishment  brought  by  the  breeze  for  the  sentimental 
melancholy  of  their  growing  love.  Although  neither  of  them 
appeared  to  regard  their  brief  companionship  as  anything  but 
an  ordinary  adventure,  there  was  something  in  the  sky  above 
them,  in  the  season  and  in  the  place,  which  gave  their  senti- 
ments a  tinge  of  soberness,  and  lent  an  appearance  of  passion 
to  them.     They  began  to  praise  the  beauty  of  the  day,  and 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHtS.  116 

then  fell  to  talking  of  their  strange  meeting,  of  the  end  of 
the  pleasant  intercourse  so  nearly  approaching,  and  of  how 
easy  it  is  to  become  intimate  upon  a  journey  with  people,  who 
are  lost  to  sight  again  almost  directly  after  we  meet  them. 
At  this  last  observation,  the  young  man  availed  himself  of  a 
tacit  permission  which  seemed  to  warrant  him  in  making  some 
sentimental  confidences,  and  in  venturing  a  declaration,  like 
a  man  accustomed  to  situations  of  this  kind. 

"  Do  you  notice,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "  how  little  our 
feelings  flow  in  their  accustomed  channels  in  these  times  of 
terror  in  which  we  live  ?  Is  there  not  a  striking  and  unex- 
plainable  spontaneity  about  everything  that  takes  place  around 
us  ?  We  love  nowadays,  or  we  hate,  on  the  strength  of  a 
single  glance.  We  are  bound  together  for  life,  or  we  are 
severed  with  the  same  speed  that  brings  us  to  the  scaffold. 
We  do  everything  in  haste,  like  the  nation  in  its  ferment. 
We  cling  to  each  other  more  closely  amid  these  perils  than 
in  the  common  course  of  life.  Lately,  in  Paris,  we  have 
come  to  know,  as  men  learn  on  the  battlefield,  all  that  is 
meant  by  a  grasp  of  the  hand." 

"  The  thirst  for  a  full  life  in  a  little  space,"  she  said, 
**was  felt  then  because  men  used  to  have  so  short  a  time  to 
live." 

She  gave  a  rapid  glance  at  her  companion,  which  seemed  to 
put  him  in  mind  of  the  end  of  their  brief  journey,  and  added 
maliciously,  "You  have  a  very  fair  knowledge  of  life  for  a 
young  man  just  leaving  the  Ecole  polytechnique." 

"What  do  you  think  of  me  ?  "  he  asked  after  a  moment's 
pause;  "tell  me  frankly  and  without  hesitation." 

"  You  wish  in  turn  to  acquire  the  right  of  speaking  in  like 
fashion  of  me  ?  "  she  queried,  laughing. 

"You  are  not  answering  me,"  he  said  after  another  Slight 
pause.     "  Beware  !  silence  is  very  often  an  answer  in  itself." 

"Did  I  not  guess  all  that  you  wished  you  could  tell  me? 
Ehy  mon  i)ieu  /  you  have  said  too  much  already." 


116  THE   CHOUANS. 

"Oh,  if  we  understand  each  other,"  he  said,  smiling,  ''I 
have  obtained  more  than  I  dared  to  hope." 

She  smiled  so  graciously  at  this,  that  she  seemed  willing 
to  engage  in  a  courteous  fence  in  words,  in  which  a  man  de- 
lights to  press  a  woman  closely.  Half  in  jest  and  half  in 
earnest,  they  persuaded  themselves  that  it  was  impossible  that, 
each  for  each,  they  could  ever  be  other  than  they  were  at  that 
moment.  The  young  man  could  fairly  give  himself  up  to  a  pre- 
dilection which  had  no  future  before  it,  and  Marie  could  laugh 
at  him.  When,  in  this  way,  they  had  set  up  an  imaginary 
barrier  between  them,  both  of  them  seemed  eager  to  take  full 
advantage  of  the  dangerous  liberty  which  they  had  just 
acquired.     Marie  suddenly  slipped  on  a  stone  and  stumbled. 

"Take  my  arm,"  said  the  stranger. 

**  I  shall  have  to  do  so,  giddy-pate !  because  you  would 
grow  so  conceited  if  I  declined.  Would  it  not  look  as  if  I 
were  afraid  of  you  ? ' ' 

"Ah,  mademoiselle!"  he  said,  pressing  her  arm  against 
him  to  let  her  feel  the  beating  of  his  heart ;  you  have  just 
made  me  very  vain  by  this  favor." 

"  Well,  then,  my  readiness  to  grant  it  will  dispel  your  illu- 
sions. ' ' 

"  Do  you  want  to  arm  me  already  against  the  dangerous 
emotions  you  inspire  ?  " 

"I  beg  that  you  will  stop  this  talk,"  she  said;  "do  not 
involve  me  in  a  labyrinth  of  boudoir  small-talk  and  the  jargon 
of  drawing-rooms.  I  do  not  like  to  find  the  sort  of  ingenuity 
that  any  fool  can  attain  to,  in  a  man  of  your  calibre.  Look  ! 
Here  we  are,  out  in  the  open  country,  under  a  glorious  sky ; 
everything  before  us  and  above  us  is  great.  You  wish  to  in- 
form me  that  I  am  pretty ;  is  that  not  so  ?  But  I  can  tell 
that  quite  well  from  your  eyes,  and  moreover  I  am  aware  of 
it ;  I  am  not  a  woman  to  be  gratified  by  civil  speeches.  Possi- 
bly you  would  speak  to  me  of  your  sentiments  ?^'  she  went  on, 
with  sardonic  emphasis  on  the  last  word.     "  Could  you  really 


A  NOTION  OF  F0UCH£'S.  117 

think  me  foolish  enough  to  believe  in  a  sudden  sympathy 
powerful  enough  to  control  a  whole  life  by  the  memories  of 
one  morning?  " 

"  Not  the  memories  of  a  morning,"  he  replied,  **  but  of  a 
beautiful  woman  who  has  shown  herself  to  be  magnanimous 
as  well." 

"You  forget,"  she  said,  laughing,  "much  greater  at- 
tractions than  these.  I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  and  every- 
thing about  me  must  seem  very  unusual  in  your  eyes — my 
name,  rank,  and  position,  and  my  freedom  of  thought  and 
action." 

' '  You  are  no  stranger  to  me, ' '  he  exclaimed.  I  have  divined 
your  nature ;  I  would  not  add  one  perfection  more  to  your 
completeness,  unless  it  were  a  little  more  belief  in  the  love 
that  you  inspire  at  first  sight." 

"  You  poor  seventeen-year-old  boy  !  You  are  prating  of 
love  already  !"  she  smiled.  **  Very  well,  so  be  it  then.  It  is 
a  stock  subject  of  conversation  when  any  two  creatures  meet, 
like  the  wind  and  the  weather,  when  we  pay  a  call.  Let  us 
take  it  then.  You  will  find  no  false  modesty  nor  littleness  in 
me.  I  can  hear  the  word  '  love  '  pronounced  without  blushing. 
It  has  been  said  to  me  so  very  often,  but  not  in  tones  that 
the  heart  uses,  that  it  has  grown  almost  meaningless  in  my 
ears.  I  have  heard  it  repeated  everywhere,  in  the  theatre,  in 
books  and  in  society,  but  I  have  never  met  with  anything  that 
resembled  the  magnificent  sentiment  itself." 

"  Have  you  looked  for  it  ?  " 

"Yes."  The  word  fell  from  her  so  carelessly  that  the 
young  man  started  and  gazed  at  Marie  as  if  his  views  with 
regard  to  her  character  and  condition  had  undergone  a  sudden 
change. 

"  Mademoiselle,  are  you  girl  or  woman,  an  angel  or  a  fiend  ?" 
he  asked  with  ill-concealed  emotion. 

"  Both  the  one  and  the  other,"  she  answered  him,  smiling. 
**  Is  there  not  something  both  diabolical  and  angelic  in  a  girl 


118  THE   CHOUANS. 

who  has  never  loved,  does  not  love,  and  possibly  never  will 
love?" 

"And  you  are  happy  for  all  that?"  he  asked,  with  a  cer- 
tain freedom  of  tone  and  manner,  as  if  this  woman  who  had 
liberated  him  had  fallen  in  his  esteem  already. 

"Happy?"  she  asked.  "  Oh,  no  !  When  I  happen  to 
think  how  solitary  I  am,  and  of  the  tyranny  of  social  conven- 
tions which  perforce  makes  a  schemer  of  me,  I  envy  man  his 
prerogatives.  Then  at  the  thought  of  all  the  means  with  whicli 
nature  has  endowed  us  women,  so  that  we  can  surround  you 
and  entangle  you  in  the  meshes  of  an  invisible  power  that 
not  one  of  you  can  resist,  my  lot  here  has  its  attractions  for 
me;  and  then  all  at  once  it  seems  to  me  a  pitiful  thing,  and 
I  feel  that  I  should  despise  a  man  who  could  be  deceived  by 
these  vulgar  wiles.  Sometimes,  in  short,  I  recognize  the  yoke 
we  must  bear  with  approval ;  then,  again,  it  is  hateful  to  me, 
and  I  rebel  against  it.  Sometimes  a  longing  stirs  within  me 
for  that  lot  of  devotion  which  makes  a  woman  so  fair  and 
noble  a  thing,  and  then  again  I  am  consumed  by  a  desire 
for  power.  This  is  perhaps  the  natural  struggle  between  good 
and  evil  instincts,  by  which  everything  lives  here  below. 
Angel  or  fiend,  did  you  say?  Ah,  I  do  not  recognize  my 
double  nature  to-day  for  the  first  time.  We  women  know  our 
own  insufficiency  even  better  than  you  do.  Instinctively  we 
expect  in  everything  a  perfection  which  is  no  doubt  im- 
possible. But,"  she  sighed  as  she  turned  her  eyes  to  the  sky, 
"  there  is  one  thing  which  ennobles  us  in  your  eyes " 

"And  that  is ?"  asked  he. 

"Well,  that  is  the  fact  that  we  are  all  struggling  more  or 
less  against  our  destiny  of  incompleteness." 

"Mademoiselle,  why  must  we  take  leave  of  you  to-night?" 

"Ah!"  she  said,  smiling  at  the  glowing  look  the  young 
man  turned  upon  her ;  "let  us  go  back  to  the  coach,  the  fresh 
air  is  not  good  for  us,"  and  Marie  hurried  back  to  it.  As  the 
stranger  followed  he  pressed  her  arm,  with  scanty  respect  for 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCflA'S.  119 

her,  but  in  a  manner  which  expressed  both  his  admiration 
and  the  feelings  which  had  gained  the  mastery  over  him.  She 
quickened  her  pace  ;  the  sailor  guessed  that  she  meant  to 
escape  from  a  suit  which  might  be  urged  upon  her ;  and  this 
made  him  the  more  vehemently  eager.  He  risked  everything 
to  gain  a  first  favor  from  this  woman,  and  said  diplomatically — 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  a  secret  ?  " 

**  Oh,  at  once,  if  it  relates  to  your  own  affairs." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  service  of  the  Republic.  Where  are  you 
going?     I  will  go  with  you." 

Marie  shuddered  violently  at  these  words.  She  withdrew 
her  arm  from  his  and  put  both  hands  before  her  face  to  hide 
the  red  flush,  or  the  pallor  it  may  be,  that  wrought  a  change 
in  her  features ;  then  in  a  moment  she  uncovered  her  face  and 
said  in  a  tremulous  voice — 

"  So  you  began  as  you  would  fain  have  ended,  by  deceiving 
me?" 

*'  Yes,"  he  said.  She  turned  her  back  on  the  bulky  coach 
towards  which  they  were  walking,  and  almost  started  to  run. 

"But  just  now  the  fresh  air  was  not  good "  began  the 

stranger. 

"  Oh,  it  is  different  now,"  she  said  with  a  sad  note  in  her 
voice,  and  she  walked  on;  a  storm  of  thoughts  was  raging 
within  her. 

'•'You  are  silent?"  the  stranger  said.  His  heart  was  full 
of  joyous  anticipation  of  pleasure  to  come. 

"Oh  !  "  she  cried  briefly,  "how  quickly  the  tragedy  has 
begun  !  " 

"What  tragedy  are  you  talking  of?"  he  inquired.  She 
stopped  short,  scanning  the  pupil  from  the  Ecole  with  both 
fear  and  curiosity  in  her  looks,  then  she  concealed  her  troubled 
feelings  beneath  an  inscrutable  serenity ;  evidently  for  so 
young  a  woman  she  had  no  small  practical  knowledge  of  life. 

'•Who  are  you?"  she  went  on.  "But  I  know  who  you 
are.     I  suspected  you  at  first  sight.     Are  you  not  the  Royalist 


120  THE   CHOUANS. 

chief  called  the  Gars  ?  The  ex-bishop  of  Autun  was  quite 
right  when  he  cautioned  us  to  believe  in  our  forebodings 
of  ill." 

"  What  interest  can  there  be  for  you  in  knowing  that 
fellow?" 

**  What  interest  could  he  have  in  concealing  his  identity 
when  I  have  saved  his  life  already?"  She  began  to  laugh, 
but  it  was  with  a  visible  effort.  "I  did  wisely,"  she  said, 
"when  I  prevented  you  from  making  love  to  me.  Under- 
stand this,  sir,  you  are  abhorrent  to  me.  I  am  a  Republican, 
you  are  a  Royalist ;  I  would  give  you  up  if  I  had  not  passed 
my  word,  if  I  had  not  saved  your  life  once  already,  and  if 

"     She  broke  off.     These  stormy  revulsions  of  feeling, 

the  struggle  which  she  scarcely  troubled  herself  to  hide  from 
him  any  longer,  alarmed  the  stranger.  He  tried  to  watch 
her,  but  to  no  purpose. 

"  Let  us  part  at  once,  I  will  have  it  so.  Good-bye  !  "  said 
she.  She  turned  sharply  from  him,  took  a  step  or  two,  and 
then  came  back  again. 

"Nay,"  she  said,  "it  is  of  immense  importance  to  me  to 
know  who  you  really  are.  Do  not  hide  anything ;  tell  me 
the  truth.  Who  are  you  ?  You  are  no  more  a  pupil  of  the 
Ecole  polytechnique  than  a  seventeen-year-old " 

"  I  am  a  sailor,  ready  to  leave  the  sea  to  follow  you  wher- 
ever your  fancy  may  lead  me.  If  I  am  fortunate  enough  to 
represent  a  puzzle  of  some  sort  to  you,  I  shall  be  very  careful 
not  to  extinguish  your  interest  in  it.  Why  should  we  brfng 
the  grave  cares  of  real  life  into  the  life  of  the  heart,  in  which 
we  were  coming  to  understand  one  another  so  well  ?  " 

"  Our  souls  could  have  met  and  known  each  other,"  she 
said  earnestly.  "But  I  have  no  right  to  demand  your  con- 
fidence, sir.  You  shall  never  know  the  extent  of  your  obliga- 
tions to  me ;  I  will  say  no  more."  They  went  some  little  way 
in  absolute  silence. 

"  You  take  a  great  interest  in  my  life,"  the  stranger  began. 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHiPS.  121 

"  For  pity's  sake,  sir,  either  give  me  your  name,  or  do  not 
speak.  You  are  a  child,  and  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  she  added, 
shrugging  her  shoulders. 

The  persistent  way  in  which  his  fellow-traveler  set  herself 
to  learn  his  secret  brought  the  supposed  sailor  into  a  predica- 
ment between  ordinary  prudence  and  his  desires,  A  powerful 
attraction  lies  in  the  displeasure  of  a  woman  we  long  to  win ; 
and  when  she  yields  and  relents,  no  less  than  in  her  anger, 
her  sway  is  absolute ;  she  seizes  upon  so  many  fibres  of  man's 
heart  as  she  subdues  and  penetrates  it.  Was  her  vexation  one 
more  wile  of  the  coquette  in  Mile,  de  Verneuil  ?  In  spite  of 
the  fever  that  burned  within  him,  the  stranger  had  sufficient 
remaining  self-control  to  mistrust  a  woman  who  wished  to 
extort  his  secret  of  life  and  death  from  him.  He  held  the 
hand  which  she  absently  allowed  him  to  take.  **  Why,"  said 
he  to  himself,  "should  my  blundering,  which  sought  to  add 
a  future  to  to-day,  have  destroyed  all  the  charm  of  it 
instead  ? ' ' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  seemed  to  be  in  great  trouble,  was 
silent. 

"  In  what  way  is  it  possible  that  I  can  give  you  pain?  "  he 
began,  "  and  what  can  I  do  to  soothe  you?  " 

"Tell  me  your  name."  It  was  his  turn  to  be  silent  now, 
and  they  walked  on  some  steps  further.  Then  Mile,  de  Ver- 
neuil suddenly  stopped,  like  some  one  who  has  made  a 
momentous  decision. 

**  Marquis  of  Montauran,"  she  said  with  dignity,  though 
she  could  not  altogether  hide  the  inward  agitation  which  gave 
a  kind  of  nervous  trembling  to  her  features.  "  I  am  happy  to 
do  you  a  service,  at  whatever  personal  cost.  Here  we  must 
separate.  The  coach  and  the  escort  are  too  necessary  for  your 
safety  for  you  to  decline  to  accept  either  of  them.  You  have 
nothing  to  fear  from  the  Republicans ;  all  those  soldiers  you 
see  are  men  of  honor,  and  I  shall  give  orders  to  the  adjutant 
which  he  will  carry  out  faithfully.     I  myself  shall  return  on 


122  THE    CHOUANS. 

foot  to  Alengon  :  my  maid  and  a  few  of  the  soldiers  will  go 
back  with  me.  Heed  me  well,  for  your  life  is  in  danger.  If 
before  you  are  in  safety  you  should  meet  the  detestable  inus- 
cadin  whom  you  saw  in  the  inn,  then  you  must  fly,   for  he 

would  immediately  give  you. up.     As  for  me "  here  she 

paused,  and  then  went  on  in  a  low  voice  as  she  kept  back  the 
tears,  *'  I  shall  plunge  once  more  into  the  miseries  of  life  with 
a  proud  heart.  Farewell,  sir.  May  you  be  happy,  and,  fare- 
well  " 

She  beckoned  to  Captain  Merle,  who  had  reached  the  top 
of  the  hill.  The  young  man  was  not  prepared  for  such  a 
sudden  development  as  this. 

"  Stay  !  "  he  cried  with  a  very  fair  imitation  of  despair. 
The  stranger  had  been  so  taken  by  surprise  at  this  singular 
freak  on  the  girl's  part,  that  though  he  was  ready,  at  that 
moment,  to  sacrifice  his  life  to  gain  her,  he  invented  a  pitiable 
subterfuge  to  satisfy  Mile,  de  Verneuil  without  revealing  his 
name. 

"Your  guess  was  a  very  near  one,"  he  said;  "I  am  an 
emigrant  under  sentence  of  death,  and  I  am  called  the  Vicomte 
de  Bauvan.  I  came  back  to  be  near  my  brother  in  France, 
drawn  by  the  love  of  my  country.  I  hope  to  be  struck  out 
of  the  list  through  the  influence  of  Mme.  de  Beauharnais,  who 
is  now  the  First  Consul's  wife  ;  but  if  that  fails,  I  mean  at  any 
rate  to  die  on  French  soil — to  fall  fighting  by  the  side  of  my 
friend  Montauran.  I  am  going,  in  the  first  place,  secretly 
into  Brittany  by  the  help  of  a  passport  that  I  have  succeeded 
in  obtaining,  to  learn  if  any  of  my  property  there  yet  remains 
to  me." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  studied  the  young  gentleman  as  he  spoke 
with  keen  attention.  She  tried  to  weigh  the  truth  of  his 
words,  but  it  was  in  her  nature  to  be  trustful  and  credulous, 
and  her  appearance  of  tranquillity  slowly  returned  as  she  asked, 
•*Is  all  that  you  have  just  told  me  true,  sir?" 

"Absolutely  true,"  the  stranger  repeated,  who  appeared  to 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHBTS.  123 

regard  veracity  but  slightly  in  his  dealings  with  women.  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  heaved  a  deep  sigh  like  one  coming  to  life  again. 

"  Ah  !  I  am  really  happy  !  "  cried  she. 

"  So  you  quite  hate  my  poor  Montauran  !  " 

"No,"  she  said;  "  you  cannot  understand  me.  I  did  not 
wish  that  you  should  be  threatened  by  dangers  from  which  I 
will  try  to  shield  him,  since  he  is  your  friend." 

"Who  told  you  that  Montauran  was  in  danger?" 

**  Oh,  sir,  if  I  had  not  just  left  Paris,  where  nothing  but 
his  adventure  is  being  talked  of,  the  commandant  told  us 
quite  sufficient  about  him  at  Alen^on,  I  think." 

"  Then  I  am  going  to  ask  you  in  what  way  you  could  shield 
him  from  danger." 

"  And  suppose  I  should  not  choose  to  answer  !  "  she  said, 
with  the  haughty  expression  which  women  so  readily  assume  to 
conceal  their  feelings.  "  What  right  have  you  to  know  my 
secrets  ? ' ' 

"  The  right  that  a  man  who  loves  you  ought  to  have." 

*'  Already  ? "  said  she.     *'  No,  sir,  you  do  not  love  me ; 

for  you  I  am  simply  a  fitting  object  for  a  passing  affair  of  gal- 
lantry. Did  I  not  read  your  thoughts  at  the  first  glance  ? 
Could  a  woman  with  any  experience  of  good  society,' as  man- 
ners are  at  present,  be  deceived  about  you,  when  she  hears  a 
pupil  from  the  Ecole  poly  technique  choose  his  expressions  as 
you  do,  and  when  he  so  clumsily  disguises  his  courtly  breed- 
ing beneath  an  appearance  of  Republicanism  ?  There  is  a 
trace  of  powder  about  your  hair,  an  aristocratic  atmosphere 
about  you  which  any  woman  of  the  world  would  recognize 
at  once.  It  was  because  I  trembled  for  you  that  I  so  promptly 
dismissed  my  director,  whose  wits  are  as  keen  as  a  woman's. 
A  genuine  Republican  officer  from  the  Ecole,  sir,  would  never 
have  thought  to  make  a  conquest  of  me,  nor  would  he  have 
taken  me  for  a  good-looking  adventuress.  Permit  me,  M.  de 
Bauvan,  to  put  a  small  piece  of  feminine  reasoning  before 
you.     Are  you  really  so  young  that  you  do  not  know  that  the 


124  THE   CHOUANS. 

most  difficult  conquests  to  make  are  of  those  creatures  of  our 
sex  whose  market  value  is  known  and  who  are  satiated 
with  pleasure  ?  To  gain  that  kind  of  woman,  so  they  say, 
great  inducements  are  needed,  and  she  only  surrenders  at  her 
own  caprice ;  to  attempt  to  make  any  impression  upon  her 
would  be  the  acme  of  self-conceit  in  a  man.  Let  us  leave 
out  of  the  question  the  women  of  the  class  in  which  you  are 
so  gallant  as  to  include  me  (because  it  is  understood  that  they 
all  must  be  beautiful),  and  you  ought  to  see  that  a  witty  and 
beautiful  young  woman  of  good  birth  (for  you  concede  those 
advantages  to  me)  is  not  to  be  purchased — there  is  but  one 
way  of  winning  her,  she  must  be  loved.  Now  you  understand 
me !  If  she  loves,  and  condescends  to  folly,  there  must  be 
something  great  in  it  to  justify  her  in  her  own  eyes.  Pardon 
an  exuberance  of  reasoning,  not  often  met  with  in  persons  of 
my  sex;  but  for  your  own  sake,  and — for  mine,"  she  added, 
with  a  bend  of  her  head,  "I  would  not  have  either  of  us 
deceived  as  to  the  worth  of  the  other,  nor  would  I  have  you 
believe  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  whether  fiend  or  angel,  girl  or 
woman,  could  allow  herself  to  be  captivated  by  the  common- 
places of  gallantry." 

"Mademoiselle,"  began  the  supposed  viscount,  whose  sur- 
prise was  extreme,  although  he  concealed  it,  and  who  sud- 
denly became  once  more  a  very  fine  gentleman,  "  I  beg  of 
you  to  believe  that  I  will  look  upon  you  as  a  very  noble 
woman,  full  of  lofty  and  generous  feeling,  or  as  a  kind-hearted 
girl — whichever  you  choose." 

"I  do  not  ask  so  much  of  you,  sir,"  she  said,  laughing. 
'•  Leave  me  my  incognito.  My  mask,  moreover,  fits  more 
closely  than  yours  does,  and  it  pleases  me  to  retain  it,  if  only 
that  I  may  know  whether  people  who  speak  of  love  to  me  are 

sincere. Do  not  venture  to  approach  me  so  heedlessly. 

Hear  me,  sir,"  she  went  on,  grasping  his  arm  firmly,  "  if  you 
could  satisfy  me  that  your  love  was  sincere,  no  power  on  earth 
should  sunder  us.     Yes,  I  could  wish  to  share  in  the  larger 


AMOTION    OF  FOUCH^S.  125 

life  of  a  man,  to  be  wedded  to  lofty  ambitions  and  great 
thoughts.  Unfaithfulness  is  impossible  to  noble  hearts  ;  con- 
stancy is  a  part  of  their  natural  strength.  I  should  be  always 
loved,  always  happy.  But  yet,  I  should  not  be  ready  at  all 
times  to  lay  myself  under  the  feet  of  the  man  I  loved  as  a 
step  upon  which  he  might  rise  in  his  career.  I  could  not 
give  up  all  things  for  him,  endure  all  things  from  him,  and 
still  love  on,  even  when  he  had  ceased  to  love  me.  I  have 
never  yet  ventured  to  confide  the  longings  of  my  own  heart 
to  another,  nor  to  speak  of  the  impassioned  impulses  of  the 
enthusiasm  that  consumes  me ;  but  I  can  readily  speak  to  you 
of  them  to  some  extent,  because  the  moment  that  you  are  in 
safety  we  shall  separate. ' ' 

**  Separate  ? — never  !  "  he  cried,  electrified  by  the  tones  of 
her  voice,  through  which  a  powerful  soul  vibrated,  a  soul  at 
strife,  as  it  seemed,  with  some  vast  thought. 

"Are  you  free?"  she  asked  with  a  scornful  glance  at  him 
which  made  him  shrink. 

"Oh,  free — yes;  but  for  the  sentence  of  death." 

Then  she  spoke,  and  her  voice  was  full  of  bitterness,  "If 
this  were  not  all  a  dream,  what  a  glorious  life  ours  should  be  ! 
But  le^us  commit  no  follies,  though  I  may  have  talked  fool- 
ishly. Everything  seems  doubtful  when  I  think  of  all  that 
you  ought  to  become  before  you  can  appreciate  me  at  my  just 
worth." 

"  And  nothing  would  be  doubtful  to  me  if  you  would  be 
mine " 

"Hush  !  "  she  cried,  as  she  heard  the  words,  with  a  genuine 
ring  of  passion  in  them;  "the  air  is  certainly  no  longer 
wholesome  for  us,  let  us  go  back  to  our  chaperons." 

It  was  not  long  before  the  coach  overtook  the  two,  who 
resumed  their  places,  and  they  went  on  in  silence  for  several 
leagues.  If  both  of  them  had  plenty  to  think  about,  their 
eyes  henceforth  avoided  each  other  no  more.  Each  seemed 
to  have,  since  their  conversation,  an  equal  interest  in  watching 


126  TFTE   CHOUANS. 

the  other,  and  in  keeping  an  important  secret  hidden  ;  yet 
each  also  felt  attracted  to  the  other  by  a  desire  which  had 
risen  to  the  degree  of  passion,  as  each  recognized  cliaracteris- 
tics  which  enhanced  the  pleasure  they  expected  to  receive  from 
union  or  from  conflict.  Perhaps  both  of  them,  embarked 
upon  their  lives  of  adventure,  had  come  to  the  strange  con- 
dition of  mind  when,  either  from  weariness,  or  by  way  of  a 
challenge  to  fate,  we  decline  to  reflect  seriously  over  the 
course  we  are  pursuing,  and  yield  ourselves  up  to  the  caprices 
of  fortune,  precisely  because  there  is  but  one  possible  issue, 
which  we  behold  as  the  inevitable  result  of  it  all.  Are  there 
not  abysses  and  declivities  in  the  moral  as  in  the  physical 
world,  wherein  vigorous  natures  love  to  plunge  and  endanger 
their  existence,  with  the  joy  of  a  gambler  who  stakes  his 
whole  fortune  on  one  throw?  Mile,  de  Verneuil  and  the 
young  noble  had  in  a  manner  come  to  understand  these  ideas, 
which  were  common  to  them  both  since  the  conversation 
which  had  given  rise  to  them ;  and  both  had  suddenly  made 
great  progress  when  the  sympathy  of  the  soul  had  followed 
that  of  their  senses.  For  all  that,  the  more  inevitably  they 
felt  drawn  towards  each  other,  the  more  they  became  absorbed 
in  unconsciously  counting  up  the  amount  of  happiness  to 
come  for  them,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  the  additional  pleasure. 
The  young  man  had  not  recovered  from  his  amazement  at 
the  depths  of  thought  in  this  extraordinary  girl ;  and  he 
began  with  wondering  how  she  could  combine  so  much  experi- 
ence with  such  youthful  freshness.  He  next  thought  that  he 
discerned  an  intense  desire  to  appear  innocent  in  the  studied 
innocence  of  Marie's  general  behavior ;  he  suspected  this  to 
be  assumed.  He  took  himself  to  task  for  his  delight,  and 
could  only  see  a  clever  actress  in  this  fair  stranger.  He 
was  quite  right.  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  like  all  girls  who  have 
been  early  thrown  on  the  world,  became  more  and  more 
reserved  as  her  feelings  grew  warmer;  and,  very  naturally, 
she  assumed  that  prudish  mien  which  women  use  successfully 


NOTION  OF  FOUCHi:S.  127 

to  conceal  their  violent  desires.  All  women  would  fain  meet 
love  with  a  maiden  soul,  and  when  it  is  theirs  no  longer,  their 
hyprocrisy  is  a  tribute  with  which  they  welcome  love's  coming. 
These  were  the  thoughts  that  passed  rapidly  through  the  mind 
of  the  noble,  and  gave  him  pleasure. 

Both  of  them,  in  fact,  could  not  but  make  some  progress  in 
love  by  this  examination.  In  this  way  a  lover  swiftly  reaches 
the  point  where  the  defects  in  his  mistress  are  so  many  reasons 
for  loving  her  the  more.  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  meditations 
lasted  longer  than  those  of  the  emigrant ;  perhaps  her  imagi- 
nation took  flight  over  a  wider  stretching  future.  He  was 
obeying  but  one  of  a  thousand  impulses  that  go  to  make  up  a 
man's  experience  in  life ;  but  the  girl  foresaw  her  whole  future, 
taking  a  pleasure  in  making  it  fair  and  full  of  happiness  and 
of  great  and  noble  ideas.  So  in  these  dreams  she  was  happy, 
the  present  and  the  future,  her  wild  fancies,  and  the  actual 
reality  alike  charmed  her ;  and  Marie  now  sought  to  retrace 
her  steps,  the  better  to  establish  her  power  over  the  young 
man's  heart,  acting  in  this  instinctively,  as  all  women  do. 

After  she  had  determined  to  surrender  herself  entirely,  she 
wished,  so  to  speak,  to  yield  inch  by  inch.  She  would  fain 
have  recalled  every  action,  every  look  and  word  in  the  past, 
to  make  them  in  accord  with  the  dignity  of  a  woman  who  is 
loved ;  her  eyes  at  times  expressed  a  kind  of  terror  as  she 
brooded  over  the  bold  attitude  she  had  assumed  in  their  late 
conversation.  But  as  she  looked  at  his  resolute  face  again, 
she  thought  that  one  so  strong  must  needs  be  generous  too, 
and  exulted  within  herself  that  a  lot  more  glorious  than  that 
of  most  other  women  had  fallen  to  her,  in  that  her  lover  was 
a  man  of  powerful  character,  a  man  with  a  death  sentence 
hanging  over  him,  who  had  just  put  his  own  life  in  peril  to  make 
war  upon  the  Republic.  The  thought  that  such  a  soul  as  this 
was  hers  alone,  with  no  other  to  share  it,  gave  a  different  com- 
plexion to  everything  else.  Between  that  moment,  only  five 
hours  ago,  when  she  had  arranged  her  face  and  voice  so  as  to 


128  THE   CHOUANS. 

attract  this  gentleman,  and  the  present,  when  she  could  per- 
turb him  with  a  glance,  there  lay  a  difference  as  great  as 
between  a  dead  and  a  living  world.  Beneath  her  frank  laughter 
and  blithe  coquetry  lay  a  hidden  and  mighty  passion  tricked 
out,  like  misfortune,  in  a  smile. 

In  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  state  of  mind  everything  connected 
with  external  life  partook  of  the  nature  cf  a  phantom  show. 
The  coach  passed  through  villages,  and  over  hills  and  valleys, 
which  left  no  traces  in  her  memory.     She  reached  Mayenne, 
the  escort  of  soldiers  was  changed,  Merle  came  to  speak  to 
her,  and  she  answered  him,  she  crossed  the  town,  and  they 
went  on  again ;  but  faces  and  houses,  streets  and  landscapes, 
and  men,  passed  by  her  like  the  shadowy  forms  of  a  dream. 
Night  came  on.     Marie  traveled  along  the  road  to  Fougeres 
by  the  soft  light  of  the  brilliant  stars  in  the  sky,  and  it  never 
struck  her  that  there  was  any  change  in  the  heaven  above  her. 
She  neither  knew  where  Mayenne  was,  nor  Fougeres,  nor  her 
own  destination  ;  that,  in  a  few  hours,  she  might  have  to  part 
with  the  man  whom  she  had  chosen,  and  by  whom,  as  she 
thought,  she  herself  had  been  chosen  too,  was  an  utter  im- 
possibility to  her.     Love   is  the  one  passion  which   knows 
neither   past  nor   future.     If  she  betrayed   her  thoughts   in 
words  at  times,  the  sentences  that  fell  from  her  were  almost 
meaningless,  but  in  her  lover's  heart  they  echoed  like  promises 
of  joy.     There  were  two  who  looked  on  at  this  newborn  pas- 
sion, and  its  progress  under  their  eyes  was  alarmingly  rapid. 
Francine  knew  Marie  as  thoroughly  as  the  stranger  lady  knew 
the  young  man ;  and  past  experience  led  them  to  expect  in 
silence  some  terrific  catastrophe.     Asa  matter  of  fact,  it  was 
not  long  before  they  saw  the  close  of  this  drama,  which  Mile. 
de  Verneuil  had,  perhaps,  in  words  of  unconscious  ill-omen, 
entitled  a  tragedy. 

When  the  four  travelers  had  come  about  a  league  out  of 
Mayenne,  they  heard  a  horseman  coming  toward  them  at  a 
furious  pace.     As  soon  as  he  caught  them  up,  he  bent  down 


A   NOTION   OF  FOUCH^'S.  129 

and  looked  in  the  coach  for  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  recognized 
Corentin.  This  ill-omened  individual  took  it  upon  himself 
to  make  a  significant  gesture  with  a  familiarity  which  for  her 
had  something  scathing  in  it,  and  then  departed,  having  made 
her  cold  and  wretched  by  this  vulgar  signal. 

This  occurrence  seemed  to  affect  the  emigrant  disagreeably, 
which  fact  was  by  no  means  lost  on  his  supposed  mother ;  but 
Marie  touched  him  lightly,  and  her  look  seemed  to  seek  a 
refuge  in  his  heart,  as  if  there  lay  the  one  shelter  that  she  had 
on  earth.  The  young  man's  brow  grew  clear,  as  he  felt  a  thrill 
of  emotion,  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  should  thus  have  allowed 
him  to  see,  inadvertently  as  it  were,  the  extent  of  her  attach- 
ment for  him.  All  her  coquetry  had  vanished  before  an  in- 
explicable dread,  and  love  had  shown  itself  for  a  moment 
unveiled.  Neither  of  them  spoke,  as  if  the  sweet  moment 
so  might  last  a  little  longer..  Unluckily  Mme.  du  Gua  in  their 
midst  saw  everything;  like  a  miser  giving  a  banquet,  she 
seemed  to  count  their  morsels,  and  to  measure  out  their  life. 

Altogether  absorbed  in  their  happiness,  and  without  a 
thought  of  the  way  they  had  come,  the  two  lovers  arrived  at 
the  part  of  the  road  which  lies  along  the  bottom  of  the  val- 
ley of  Ernde,  forming  the  first  of  the  three  valleys  among 
which  the  events  took  place  with  which  this  story  opened. 
Francine  saw  and  pointed  out  strange  forms  which  seemed 
to  move  like  shadows  through  the  trees  and  the  ajoncs  that 
bordered  the  fields.  As  the  coach  came  towards  these 
shadows,  there  was  a  general  discharge  of  muskets,  and  the 
whistling  of  balls  over  their  heads  told  the  travelers  that  all 
these  phantoms  were  substantial  enough.  The  escort  had 
fallen  into  an  ambush. 

At  this  sharp  fusillade,  Captain  Merle  keenly  regretted  his 
share  in  Mile.  deVerneuil's  miscalculation.  She  had  thought 
that  the  quick  night  journey  would  be  attended  with  so  little 
risk  that  she  had  only  allowed  him  to  bring  sixty  men.  Act- 
ing under  Gerard's  orders,  the  captain  immediately  divided 
9 


130  THE    CHOUANS. 

the  little  troop  into  two  columns  to  hold  the  road  on  either 
side,  and  both  officers  advanced  at  a  running  pace  through 
the  fields  of  broom  and  furze,  seeking  to  engage  their  adver- 
saries before  even  learning  their  numbers.  The  Blues  began 
to  beat  up  the  thick  undergrowth  right  and  left  with  rash 
intrepidity,  and  kept  up  an  answering  fire  upon  the  bushes  of 
broom  from  which  the  Chouan  volley  had  come. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil's  first  impulse  had  led  her  to  spring  out 
of  the  coach  and  to  run  back,  so  as  to  put  some  distance  be- 
tween her  and  the  scene  of  the  fray.  But  she  grew  ashamed 
of  her  fright ;  and,  under  the  influence  or  the  desire  to  grow 
great  in  the  eyes  of  her  beloved,  she  stood  quite  still,  and 
tried  to  make  a  cool  survey  of  the  fight.  The  emigrant  fol- 
lowed her,  took  her  hand,  and  held  it  to  his  heart. 

**I  was  frightened,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  but  now " 

Just  at  that  moment  her  terrified  maid  called  to  her,  **  Take 
care,  Marie  !  "  But  as  Francine  attempted  to  spring  from 
the  coach,  she  felt  the  grasp  of  a  strong  hand  arrest  her.  The 
heavy  weight  of  that  huge  hand  drew  a  sharp  cry  from  her ; 
she  turned  and  made  not  another  sound  when  she  recognized 
Marche-a-Terre's  face. 

"  So  I  must  owe  to  your  fears  the  disclosure  of  the  sweet- 
est of  all  secrets  for  the  heart,"  the  stranger  said  to  Mile,  de 
Verneuil.  "  Thanks  to  Francine,  I  have  found  out  that  you 
are  called  by  the  gracious  name  of  Marie — Marie,  the  name 
that  has  been  on  my  lips  in  every  sorrow  I  have  known  ! 
Marie,  the  name  that  henceforth  I  shall  utter  in  joy.  I  shall 
never  more  pronounce  it  without  committing  sacrilege,  with- 
out confusing  my  religion  with  my  love  !  But  will  it  be  a 
sin,  after  all,  to  love  and  pray  at  the  same  time?"  They 
pressed  each  other's  hands  fervently  as  he  spoke,  and  looked 
at  each  other  in  silence ;  the  strength  of  their  feelings  had 
taken  from  them  all  power  of  expressing  them. 

"  There  is  no  harm  meant  for  you  people,"  Marche-^-Terre 
said  roughly  to  Francine.     There  was  a  note  of  menace  and 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHA'S.  131 

reproach  in  the  hoarse  guttural  sounds  of  his  voice ;  he  laid 
a  stress  upon  every  word  in  a  way  that  paralyzed  the  innocent 
peasant  girl. 

For  the  first  time  she  was  confronted  with  cruelty  in  Marche- 
a-Terre's  expression.  Moonlight  seemed  the  only  suitable 
illumination  for  such  a  face.  The  fierce  Breton,  with  his  cap 
in  one  hand  and  his  heavy  carbine  in  the  other,  and  with  his 
squat  gnome-like  form  in  the  cold  white  rays  of  light  which 
give  everything  an  unfamiliar  look,  seemed  to  belong  rather 
to  fairyland  than  to  this  world.  There  was  a  shadowy  swift- 
ness about  the  coming  of  this  phantom  and  his  reproachful 
exclamation.  He  turned  immediately  to  Mme.  du  Gua  and 
exchanged  some  earnest  words  with  her.  Francine  had  for- 
gotten her  Bas- Breton,  and  could  make  nothing  of  their  talk. 
The  lady  seemed  to  be  giving  a  complication  of  orders  to 
Marche-a-Terre,  and  the  short  conference  was  terminated  by 
an  imperious  gesticulation  on  her  part,  as  she  pointed  out  the 
two  lovers  to  the  Chouan. 

Before  he  obeyed  her,  Marche-a-Terre  gave  Francine  one 
last  look.  He  seemed  to  be  sorry  for  her,  and  would  have 
spoken,  but  the  Breton  girl  felt  that  her  lover  was  obliged  to 
keep  silent.  There  were  furrows  in  the  rough  sun-burned 
skin  on  his  forehead  ;  the  man's  brows  were  drawn  together 
in  a  heavy  frown.  Would  he  disobey  this  renewed  order  to 
take  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  life?  Mme.  du  Gua,  no  doubt, 
thought  him  the  more  hideous  for  this  grimace,  but  to  Fran- 
cine there  was  an  almost  tender  gleam  in  his  eyes.  The  look 
told  her  that  it  was  in  her  woman's  power  to  direct  that  fierce 
will,  and  she  hoped  yet  to  establish  her  sway  after  God's  in 
this  wild  heart. 

Marie's  tender  conversation  was  interrupted  by  Mme.  du 
Gua,  who  caught  hold  of  her  with  a  cry,  as  if  danger  was  at 
hand.  She  had  recognized  one  of  the  Royalist  committee 
from  Alengon,  and  her  sole  object  was  to  gain  for  him  an 
opportunity  of  speaking  to  the  emigrant. 


132  THE   CHOUANS. 

"  Mistrust  the  girl  whom  you  met  at  the  sign  of  the 
'Three  Moors!'"  so  said  the  Chevalier  de  Valois  in  the 
young  man's  ear,  and  then  both  he  and  the  Breton  pony 
which  he  rode  disappeared  in  the  bushes  of  broom  whence  he 
had  issued.  The  sharp  rolling  fire  of  the  skirmish  became  at 
this  moment  astonishingly  hot,  but  the  combatants  could  not 
come  to  close  quarters. 

'*  Is  not  this  attack  a  feint,  adjutant,  so  that  they  may 
kidnap  our  travelers  and  hold  them  for  ransom  ?"  suggested 
Clef-des-Coeurs. 

"  Devil  fetch  me,  you  are  on  the  right  track  !  "  was  Gerard's 
answer,  as  he  flung  himself  on  the  road. 

The  Chouan  fire  grew  slacker.  They  had  gained  theii 
object  in  the  skirmish  when  the  Chevalier's  communication 
was  made  to  the  chief.  Merle  saw  them  drawing  off"  through 
the  hedges,  a  few  at  a  time,  and  did  not  consider  it  expedient 
to  engage  in  a  useless  and  dangerous  struggle.  The  captain 
had  a  chance  to  hand  Mile.  deVerneuil  back  into  the  carriage, 
for  there  stood  the  noble,  like  one  thunderstruck.  The  Pa- 
risian in  her  surprise  got  in  without  availing  herself  of  the 
Republican's  courtesy  ;  she  turned  to  look  at  her  lover,  saw 
him  standing  there  motionless,  and  was  bewildered  by  the 
sudden  change  just  wrought  in  him  by  the  Chevalier's  words. 
Slowly  the  young  emigrant  returned  ;  his  manner  disclosed  a 
feeling  of  intense  disgust. 

"  Was  I  not  right  ?  "  Mme.  du  Gua  said  in  his  ear,  as  she 
went  back  with  him  to  the  coach.  "  We  are  certainly  in  the 
hands  of  a  creature  who  has  struck  a  bargain  for  your  life ; 
but  since  she  is  fool  enough  to  be  smitten  with  you  instead 
of  attending  to  her  business,  do  not  behave  yourself  like  a 
child,  but  pretend  that  you  love  her  until  we  reach  the  Vive- 
ti^re,  and  once  there — Is  he  really  in  love  with  her  already  ?  " 
she  added  to  herself,  for  the  young  man  did  not  move,  and 
stood  like  one  lost  in  dreams. 

The  coach  rolled  on  almost  noiselessly  over  the  sandy  road. 


A  NOTION  OF  F0UCH£,'S.  133 

At  the  first  glance  round  about  her  everything  seemed  changed 
for  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  The  shadow  of  death  had  stolen  across 
love  already.  The  differences  were  the  merest  shades  perhaps; 
but  such  shades  as  these  are  as  strongly  marked  as  the  most 
glaring  hues  for  a  woman  who  loves.  Francine  had  learned 
from  Marche-a-Terre's  expression  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil's 
fate,  over  which  she  had  bidden  him  to  watch,  was  in  other 
hands  than  his.  Whenever  she  met  her  mistress'  eyes,  she 
turned  pale  and  could  scarcely  keep  back  the  tears.  The 
rancor  prompting  a  feminine  revenge  was  but  ill  concealed 
by  the  feigned  smiles  of  the  stranger  lady.  The  sudden 
change  in  her  manner,  the  elaborate  kindness  for  Mile,  de 
Verneuil,  infused  into  her  voice  and  expression,  was  sufficient 
to  alarm  any  quick-sighted  woman.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  shud- 
dered instinctively,  and  asked  herself,  "  Why  did  I  shudder? 
Is  she  not  his  mother?  "  But  she  trembled  in  every  limb  as 
she  suddenly  asked  herself,  "But  is  she  really  his  mother?" 
Then  she  saw  the  precipice  before  her,  and  a  final  glance  at  the 
man's  face  made  it  plain  to  her. 

"This  woman  loves  him!"  she  thought.  "But  why 
should  she  overwhelm  me  with  attentions  after  having  shown 
so  much  coolness  to  me  ?  Is  it  possible  that  she  fears  me,  or 
am  I  lost?" 

As  for  the  emigrant,  he  was  red  and  pale  by  turns;  he 
retained  his  apparently  calm  manner  by  lowering  his  eyes,  to 
conceal  the  strange  emotions  that  warred  within  him.  His 
lips  were  pressed  together  so  tightly  that  their  graceful  curv- 
ing outlines  were  disturbed  ;  a  yellowish  tint,  due  to  the 
violent  conflict  in  his  mind,  overspread  his  face.  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  could  not  even  discover  if  there  was  a  lingering  trace 
of  love  in  all  this  passion.  Woods  lined  the  road  on  either 
side  at  this  spot,  and  it  became  so  dark  that  the  mute  actors 
in  the  drama  could  no  longer  question  each  other  with  their 
eyes.  The  sough  of  the  wind  rustling  through  the  woods,  and 
the  even  paces  of  their  escort,  gave  a  tinge  of  awe  to  the  time 


134  THE   CHOUANS. 

and  place,  a  solemnity  that  quickens  the  beating  of  the  heart. 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  not  long  seek  in  vain  for  the  cause 
of  the  estrangement.  The  recollection  of  Corentin  flashed 
through  her  mind,  and  with  that  the  idea  of  her  real  destiny 
rose  up  suddenly  before  her.  For  the  first  time  since  the 
morning,  she  fell  to  thinking  seriously  over  her  position. 
Hitherto  she  had  given  herself  up  to  the  joy  of  being  loved, 
without  a  thought  of  the  future  or  of  the  past.  She  grew  unable 
to  bear  her  agony  of  soul  any  longer  alone,  and,  with  the  meek 
patience  of  love,  sat  waiting,  beseeching  one  glance  of  the 
young  man.  There  was  such  a  touching  eloquence  about  her 
mute  passionate  entreaty,  her  shudder,  and  her  white  face, 
that  he  wavered  a  moment — the  catastrophe  was  but  the  more 
complete. 

**  Are  you  feeling  ill,  mademoiselle  ?  "  he  inquired.  There 
was  no  trace  of  tenderness  in  his  voice.  His  look  and  gesture, 
the  very  question  itself,  all  served  to  convince  the  poor  girl 
that  all  that  had  happened  during  the  day  had  been  part  of  a 
soul-mirage,  which  was  now  dispersing  as  half-formed  clouds 
are  borne  away  by  the  wind. 

"  Am  I  feeling  ill  ?  "  she  replied,  with  a  constrained  laugh  j 
"I  was  just  going  to  put  the  same  question  to  you." 

"  I  thought  you  both  understood  each  other,"  said  Mme. 
du  Gua  with  assumed  good  nature. 

But  neither  Mile,  de  Verneuil  nor  the  young  noble  made 
her  any  answer.  The  girl  thus  grievously  offended  for  the 
second  time  was  vexed  to  find  that  her  all-powerful  beauty 
had  lost  its  force.  She  knew  that  she  could  discover  the 
reason  of  this  state  of  things  whenever  she  chose,  but  she  was 
not  anxious  to  look  into  it ;  and  for  the  first  time,  perhaps,  a 
woman  shrank  back  from  learning  a  secret.  There  are  in  our 
lives  far  too  many  situations  when,  either  by  dint  of  overmuch 
thinking,  or  through  some  heavy  calamity,  our  ideas  become 
disconnected,  have  no  foundation  in  fact,  and  no  basis  to 
start  from ;  the  links  that  bind  the  present  to  the  future  and 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHE'S.  135 

to  the  past  are  severed.  This  was  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  condi- 
dition.  She  bowed  her  head,  lay  back  in  the  carriage,  and 
stayed  in  this  position  like  an  uprooted  shrub.  She  took  no 
notice  of  any  one,  she  saw  nothing  around  her,  but  suffered 
in  silence,  wrapping  herself  about  in  her  sorrow,  a  deliberate 
dweller  in  the  solitary  world  whither  unhappiness  betakes 
itself  for  shelter.  Some  ravens  flew  croaking  over  them  ;  but 
although  in  her,  as  in  all  strong  natures,  there  was  a  supersti- 
tious spot,  she  gave  no  heed  to  them.  The  travelers  went  on 
their  way  in  silence  for  some  time. 

"  Sundered  already  !  "  said  Mile,  de  Vemeuil  to  herself. 
"  And  yet  nothing  about  me  could  have  told  him  !  Could  it 
have  been  Corentin?  But  it  is  not  to  Corentin's  interest. 
Who  can  have  risen  up  to  accuse  me  ?  I  have  scarcely  been 
beloved,  and  here  already  I  am  aghast  at  being  forsaken.  I 
have  sown  love,  and  I  reap  contempt.  So  it  is  decreed  by 
fate  that  I  shall  never  do  more  than  see  the  happiness  that  I 
must  always  lose." 

There  was  a  trouble  within  her  heart  that  was  new  in  her  ex- 
perience, for  she  really  loved  now,  and  for  the  first  time.  But 
she  was  not  so  overcome  by  her  pain  that  she  could  not  oppose 
to  it  the  pride  natural  to  a  young  and  beautiful  woman.  Her 
love  was  still  her  own  secret ;  the  secret  that  torture  often  fails 
to  draw  had  not  escaped  her.  She  raised  her  head,  ashamed 
that  her  mute  suffering  should  indicate  the  extent  of  the  pas- 
sion within  her,  showed  a  smiling  face,  or  rather  a  smiling 
mask,  gave  a  gay  little  shake  of  the  head,  controlling  her 
voice,  so  as  to  show  no  sign  of  the  change  in  it. 

"Where  are  we  now?"  she  asked  of  Captain  Merle,  who 
always  kept  at  a  little  distance  from  the  coach. 

"Three  leagues  and  a  half  from  Fougeres,  mademoiselle." 
"  Then  we  shall  very  soon  be  there  now,"  said  she,  to  in- 
duce him  to  begin  to  talk,  her  mind  being  fully  made  up  to 
favor  the  young  captain  with  some  mark  of  her  consideration. 
"Those  leagues,"  replied  the  delighted  Merle,   "are  no 


136  THE   CHOUANS. 

great  matter,  except  that  hereabouts  they  never  let  anything 
come  to  an  end.  As  soon  as  you  reach  the  upland  at  the  top 
of  this  hill  that  we  are  climbing,  you  will  see  another  valley 
just  like  the  one  we  are  leaving  behind,  and  then  on  the  hori- 
zon you  can  see  the  top  of  La  Pdlerine.  God  send  that  the 
Chouans  will  be  so  obliging  as  not  to  have  their  revenge  up 
there.  But  as  you  can  suppose,  we  don't  get  on  very  fast, 
going  up  and  down  hill  in  this  way.  From  La  Pelerine  again 
you  will  see " 

The  emigrant  trembled  slightly  at  that  word  for  the  second 
time,  but  so  slightly  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  alone  observed  it. 

•'What  may  this  La  Pelerine  be?"  the  girl  inquired 
vivaciously,  interrupting  the  captain,  who  was  quite  taken  up 
by  his  Breton  topography. 

"It  is  the  summit  of  a  hill,"  Merle  answered.  "It  gives 
its  name  to  the  valley  here  in  Maine,  which  we  are  just  going 
to  enter.  The  hill  is  the  dividing  line  between  that  province 
and  the  valley  of  the  Couesnon  ;  Fougeres  lies  at  the  very  end 
of  the  valley,  and  that  is  the  first  town  you  come  to  in  Brit- 
tany. We  had  a  fight  there  against  the  Gars  and  his  bandits 
at  the  end  of  Vendemiaire.  We  were  bringing  over  some 
conscripts,  and  they  had  a  mind  to  kill  us  on  the  border  so  as 
to  stop  in  their  own  country ;  but  Hulot  is  a  tough  customer, 
and  he  gave  them " 

**  Then  you  must  have  seen  the  Gars  ?  "  she  asked.  "What 
sort  of  man  is  he  ?  "  and  all  the  time  her  keen  malicious  eyes 
were  never  withdrawn  from  the  pretended  Vicomte  de  Bau- 
van's  face. 

^^  Oh,  mon  Dieu !  mademoiselle,"  replied  Merle,  inter- 
rupted again  as  usual ;  "he  is  so  very  much  like  the  citizen 
du  Gua,  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  uniform  of  the  Ecole 
polytechnique  that  he  is  wearing,  I  would  bet  it  was  the  same 
man." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  stared  hard  at  the  cool  and  impassive 
young  man  who  was  looking  contemptuously  back  at  her,  but 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHA'S.  137 

she  could  see  nothing  about  him  that  revealed  any  feeling  of 
fear.  By  a  bitter  smile  she  let  him  know  that  she  had  just 
discovered  the  secret  he  had  so  dishonorably  kept.  Then 
her  nostrils  dilated  with  joy ;  she  bent  her  head  to  one  side, 
so  that  she  could  scrutinize  the  young  noble,  and  at  the  same 
time  keep  Merle  in  view,  and  said  to  the  Republican  in  a 
mocking  voice — 

"This  chief  is  giving  the  First  Consul  a  good  deal  of 
anxiety,  captain.  There  is  plenty  of  daring  in  him,  they  say, 
but  he  will  engage  in  adventures  of  certain  kinds  like  a  hare- 
brained boy,  especially  if  there  is  a  woman  in  the  case." 

"We  are  just  reckoning  upon  that  to  square  our  accounts 
with  him,"  said  the  captain.  "If  we  can  get  hold  of  him 
for  a  couple  of  hours,  we  will  put  a  little  lead  in  those  brains 
of  his.  If  he  were  to  come  across  us,  the  fellow  from  Cob- 
lentz  would  do  as  much  for  us ;  he  would  turn  us  oflF  into  the 
dark,  so  it  is  tit  for  tat."  "  Oh,  you  have  nothing  to  fear," 
said  the  emigrant.  "  Your  soldieis  will  never  get  as  far  as 
La  Pelerine ;  they  are  too  tired ;  so  if  you  agree  to  it,  they 
could  take  a  rest  only  a  step  or  two  from  here.  My  mother 
will  alight  at  the  Vivetiere,  and  there  is  the  road  leading  to 
it,  a  few  gunshots  away.  These  two  ladies  would  be  glad  to 
rest  there  too;  they  must  be  tired  after  coming  without  a 
break  in  the  journey  from  Alen^on  hither."  He  turned  to 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  with  constrained  politeness  as  he  went  on — 
"  And,  since  mademoiselle  has  been  so  generous  as  to  make 
our  journey  safe  as  well  as  pleasant,  perhaps  she  will  con- 
descend to  accept  an  invitation  to  sup  with  my  mother? 
Times,  in  fact,  are  not  so  distracted  but  that  a  hogshead  of 
cider  can  be  found  at  the  Vivetiere  to  tap  for  your  men. 
The  Gars  will  not  have  made  off  with  everything ;  or  so  my 
mother  thinks,  at  any  rate " 

"  Your  mother  ?  "  interrupted  Mile,  de  Verneuil  satirically, 
without  making  any  response  to  the  strange  invitation  which 
was  held  out  to  her. 


138  THE   C HO  VANS. 

"  Does  my  age  seem  no  longer  credible  to  you  now  that  the 
evening  has  come,  mademoiselle?"  asked  Mme.  du  Gua. 
*'  I  was  unfortunately  married  while  very  young  ;  my  son  was 
born  when  I  was  fifteen " 

"Are  you  not  mistaken,  madame?  Should  you  not  have 
said  thirty?" 

Madame'du  Gua  turned  pale  as  she  swallowed  this  piece  of 
sarcasm.  She  longed  for  the  power  to  avenge  herself,  and  yet 
must  perforce  smile.  At  all  costs  to  herself,  even  by  the  en- 
durance of  the  most  stinging  epigrams,  she  wished  to  dis- 
cover the  girl's  motives  of  action,  so  she  pretended  not  to 
have  understood. 

"  The  Chouans  have  never  had  a  leader  so  cruel  as  this 
one,  if  we  are  to  believe  the  rumors  that  are  flying  about  con- 
cerning him,"  she  said,  speaking  at  the  same  time  to  Francine 
and  Francine's  mistress. 

"Oh  !  I  do  not  believe  he  is  cruel,"  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
answered,  "  but  he  can  lie,  and  to  me  he  seems  exceedingly 
credulous ;  the  leader  of  a  party  ought  to  be  the  dupe  of  no 
one. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  "  asked  the  emigrant  coolly. 

"No,"  she  answered,  with  a  contemptuous  glance  at  him, 
"but  I  thought  I  knew  him." 

"  Oh,  mademoiselle,  he  is  a  shrewd  one,  and  no  mistake  !  " 
said  the  captain,  shaking  his  head  and  giving  to  the  word  he 
used  (malin)  by  an  eloquent  gesture  the  peculiar  shade  of 
meaning  which  it  then  possessed,  and  has  since  lost.  "  These 
old  families  sometimes  send  out  vigorous  offshoots.  They 
come  over  here  from  a  country  where  the  ci-devants,  so  they 
say,  have  by  no  means  an  easy  time  of  it ;  and  men  are  like 
medlars,  you  know — they  ripen  best  on  straw.  If  the  fellow 
has  a  head  on  his  shoulders,  he  can  lead  us  a  dance  for  a  long 
while  yet.  He  thoroughly  understood  how  to  oppose  his 
irregular  troops  to  our  free  companies,  and  so  paralyze  the 
efforts  of  the  government.     For  every  Royalist  village  that  is 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCH^S.  139 

burnt  he  burns  two  for  the  Republicans.  He  has  spread  his 
operations  over  a  vast  tract  of  country,  and  in  that  way  he 
compels  us  to  bring  a  considerable  number  of  troops  into  the 
field,  and  that  at  a  time  when  we  have  none  to  spare  !  Oh, 
he  understands  his  business  ! ' ' 

"He  is  murdering  his  own  country,"  said  Gerard,  inter- 
rupting the  captain  with  his  powerful  voice. 

"  But  if  his  death  is  to  deliver  the  country,"  said  the  young 
gentleman,  "  shoot  him  down,  and  be  quick  about  it." 

Then  he  tried  to  fathom  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  mind  with  a 
glance ;  and  of  the  dramatic  vivacity  of  the  mute  scene  that 
passed  between  them,  and  its  subtle  swiftness,  words  can  give 
but  a  very  imperfect  idea.  Danger  makes  people  interesting. 
The  vilest  criminal  excites  some  measure  of  pity  when  it 
comes  to  be  a  question  of  his  death.  So  Mile,  de  Verneuil, 
being  by  this  time  quite  certain  that  the  lover  who  had  scorned 
her  was  the  formidable  rebel  leader,  did  not  seek  to  reassure 
herself  on  this  head  by  keeping  him  on  the  rack ;  she  had  a 
quite  different  curiosity  to  satisfy.  She  preferred  to  trust  or 
to  doubt  him,  as  her  passion  dictated,  and  set  herself  to  play 
with  edged  tools.  She  indicated  the  soldiers  to  the  young 
chieftain  in  a  glance  full  of  treacherous  derision  ;  dangling  the 
idea  of  his  danger  before  him,  amusing  herself  with  making 
him  painfully  aware  that  his  life  hung  on  a  word  which  her 
lips  seemed  to  be  opening  to  pronounce.  She  seemed,  like 
an  American  Indian,  to  be  ready  to  detect  the  movement  of 
any  nerve  in  the  face  ot  an  enemy  bound  to  the  stake,  flour- 
ishing her  tomahawk  with  a  certain  grace  ;  enjoying  a  revenge 
unstained  by  crime,  dealing  out  to  him  his  punishment  like  a 
mistress  who  has  not  ceased  to  love. 

"If  I  had  a  son  like  yours,  madam,"  she  said  to  the  visibly 
terrified  stranger,"  I  should  put  on  mourning  for  him  on  the 
day  when  I  sent  him  forth  into  danger." 

She  received  no  reply.  Again  and  again  she  turned  her 
head  towards  the  two  officers,  and  then  looked    sharply  at 


140  THE   CHOUANS. 

Mme.  du  Gua  ;  but  she  could  not  detect  that  there  was  any 
secret  signal  passing  between  the  lady  and  the  Gars,  such  as 
could  assure  her  of  an  intimacy  which  she  suspected,  and  yet 
wished  not  to  credit.  A  woman  likes  so  much  to  maintain  a 
suspense  of  a  life-and-death  struggle  when  a  word  from  her 
will  decide  the  issue.  The  young  gentleman  bore  the  torture 
which  Mile,  de  Verneuil  inflicted  upon  him  without  flinching, 
and  with  smiling  serenity;  the  expression  of  his  face  and  his 
bearing  altogether  showed  that  he  was  a  man  utterly  unaf- 
fected by  the  perils  he  underwent,  and  now  and  then  he 
seemed  to  tell  her,  "  Here  is  your  opportunity  for  aveng- 
ing your  wounded  vanity !  Seize  upon  it  !  I  should  be  in 
despair  if  I  had  to  resign  the  feeling  of  contempt  which  I 
have  for  you." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  began  to  scrutinize  him  from  her  posi- 
tion of  vantage,  with  a  haughty  insolence,  which  was  quite 
superficial,  for  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart  she  was  admiring 
his  tranquil  courage.  Glad  as  she  was  to  make  the  dis- 
covery of  the  ancient  name  that  her  lover  bore  (for  all 
women  love  the  privileges  which  a  title  confers),  she 
was  still  further  delighted  to  confront  him  in  his  present 
position.  He  was  the  champion  of  a  cause  ennobled  by  its 
misfortunes ;  he  was  exerting  every  faculty  of  a  powerful 
character  in  a  struggle  with  a  Republic  that  had  been  so 
many  a  time  victorious.  She  saw  him  now,  face  to  face 
with  imminent  danger,  displaying  the  dauntless  valor  that  has 
such  a  powerful  effect  on  women's  hearts.  Over  and  over 
again  she  put  him  through  the  ordeal,  perhaps  in  obedience  to 
an  instinct  which  leads  womankind  to  play  with  a  victim,  as 
a  cat  plays  with  the  mouse  that  she  has  caught. 

"  What  law  is  your  authority  for  putting  Chouans  to  death?  " 
she  asked  of  Captain  Merle. 

"  The  law  of  the  fourteenth  of  last  Fructidor,  The  re- 
volted departments  are  put  outside  the  civil  jurisdiction,  and 
court-martials  are  established  instead,"  replied  the  Republican. 


A   NOTION   OF  FOUCH&'S.  141 

"  To  what  cause  do  I  owe  the  honor  of  your  scrutiny  of 
me?  "  she  inquired  of  the  young  chief,  who  was  watching  her 
attentively. 

"  To  a  feeling  which  a  gentleman  hardly  knows  how  to 
express  in  speaking  to  a  woman,  whatever  she  maybe,"  said 
the  Marquis  of  Montauran  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  leaned  over 
towards  her  ;  then  he  went  on  aloud,  **'  We  must  needs  live  in 
such  times  as  these,  to  see  girls  in  your  station  do  the  office 
of  the  executioner,  and  improve  upon  him  in  their  deft  way 
of  playing  with  the  axe " 

Her  eyes  were  set  in  a  stare  on  Montauran ;  then  in  her 
exultation  at  receiving  this  insult  from  a  man  whose  life  lay 
between  her  hands  as  she  spoke,  she  whispered  in  his  ear  with 
gentle  malice  as  she  laughed — 

"Your  head  is  so  wrong  tha:;  tiie  executioners  will  none  of 
it.     I  shall  keep  it  for  my  own." 

The  bewildered  Marquis  in  his  turn  gazed  at  this  unaccount- 
able girl  for  a  moment.  The  love  in  her  had  prevailed  over 
everything  else,  even  over  the  most  scathing  insults,  and  her 
revenge  had  taken  the  form  of  pardoning  an  offence  which 
women  never  forgive.  The  expression  of  his  eyes  grew  less 
cold  and  hard,  a  touch  of  melancholy  stole  over  his  features. 
His  passion  had  a  stronger  hold  upon  him  than  he  had 
recognized.  These  faint  tokens  of  the  reconciliation  she 
looked  for  satisfied  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  She  looked  tenderly 
at  the  chief;  the  smile  she  gave  him  seemed  a  caress;  then 
she  lay  back  in  the  coach,  unwilling  to  endanger  the  future  in 
the  drama  of  her  happiness,  and  in  full  belief  that  that  smile 
of  hers  had  once  more  tightened  the  knot  that  bound  them. 
She  was  so  beautiful !  She  knew  so  well  how  to  clear  away 
all  obstacles  in  love's  course  !  She  was  so  thoroughly  accus- 
tomed to  take  all  things  as  a  pastime,  to  live  as  chance  deter- 
mined !  She  had  such  a  love  of  the  unforeseen  and  of  the 
storms  of  life ! 

Very  soon,  in  obedience  to  orders  from  the  Marquis,  the 


142  THE   CHOUANS. 

coach  left  the  high  road  and  turned  off  towards  the  Vivetidre, 
along  a  cross-road  in  a  hollow  shut  in  on  either  side  by  high 
banks,  planted  with  apple  trees,  which  made  their  way  seem 
more  of  a  ditch  than  a  road,  properly  speaking.  The  travelers 
gradually  left  the  Blues  behind  them,  they  reached  the  manor 
house;  its  gray  roofs  appearing  and  vanishing  alternately 
through  the  trees  along  the  way.  Several  soldiers  were  left 
behind,  engaged  in  extricating  their  shoes  from  the  stiff  clay. 
"This  is  like  the  road  to  Paradise  with  a  vengeance,"  cried 
Beau-Pied. 

Thanks  to  the  postilion,  who  had  been  there  before,  it  was 
not  very  long  before  Mile,  de  Verneuil  came  in  sight  of  the 
chateau  of  the  Viveti^re.  The  house  lay  on  the  slope  of  a 
sort  of  promontory  between  two  deep  ponds  which  almost 
surrounded  it,  so  that  it  was  only  possible  to  reach  the  man- 
sion by  following  one  narrow  causeway.  That  part  of  the 
peninsula  on  which  the  house  and  gardens  stood  was  protected 
at  some  distance  from  the  back  of  the  chateau  by  a  wide  moat 
which  received  all  the  overflow  from  the  two  ponds  with 
which  it  communicated.  In  this  way  an  island  was  formed, 
which  was  an  almost  impregnable  retreat,  and  therefore  invalu- 
able for  a  party  leader,  who  could  only  be  surprised  here  by 
treachery. 

As  the  gate  creaked  on  its  rusty  hinges,  and  she  passed 
under  the  pointed  archway  that  had  been  ruined  in  the  pre- 
vious war.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  stretched  out  her  head.  The 
gloomy  colors  of  the  picture  presented  to  her  gaze  all  but 
effaced  the  thoughts  of  love  and  coquetry  with  which  she  had 
been  soothing  herself.  The  coach  entered  a  great  courtyard, 
almost  square  in  shape,  and  bounded  by  the  steep  banks  of 
the  ponds.  These  rough  embankments  were  kept  dank  by 
the  water  with  its  great  patches  of  green  weed,  and  bore  such 
trees  as  love  marshy  places,  for  their  sole  adornment.  They 
stood  leafless  now.  The  stunted  trunks  and  huge  heads  gray 
with  lichens  rose  above  the  reeds  and  undergrowth  like  mis- 


CAME     IN     SIGHT     OF     THE     CHATEAU     OF     THE     VIVETIERE. 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHi:S.  143 

shaf>en  dwarfs.  These  uncomely  hedges  seemed  to  have  a 
sort  of  life  in  them,  and  to  find  a  language  when  the  frogs 
escaped  from  them,  croaking  as  they  went ;  and  the  water- 
hens,  in  alarm  at  the  sounds  made  by  the  coach,  flew  and 
splashed  across  the  surface  of  the  pools.  The  courtyard,  sur- 
rounded by  tall  withered  grasses,  gorse,  dwarf  shrubs,  and 
creeping  plants,  put  an  end  to  any  preconceived  ideas  of  order 
or  of  splendor. 

The  chateau  itself  seemed  to  have  been  a  long  while  de- 
serted. The  roofs  appeared  to  bend  under  an  accumulation 
of  vegetable  growths  ;  and  although  the  walls  were  built  very 
solidly  of  the  schistous  stone  of  the  district,  there  were  numer- 
ous cracks  where  the  ivy  had  found  a  hold.  The  chateau  fronted 
the  pond,  and  consisted  of  two  wings  which  met  at  right 
angles  in  a  high  tower,  and  that  was  all.  The  doors  and 
shutters  hung  loose  and  rotten ;  the  balustrades  were  eaten 
with  rust ;  and  these,  like  the  crazy  windows,  looked  as  if  the 
first  breath  of  a  storm  would  bring  them  down.  A  sharp 
wind  whistled  through  the  ruinous  place,  and  in  the  uncertain 
moonlight  the  great  house  had  a  spectral  app>earance  and  char- 
acter. The  cold  grays  and  blues  of  the  granitic  stone,  com- 
bined with  the  tawny  brown  and  black  of  the  schist,  must  have 
been  actually  seen,  before  the  accuracy  of  the  image  called 
up  at  first  sight  by  this  dark  empty  carcase  of  a  house  can  be 
appreciated.  It  looked  exactly  like  a  skeleton  with  the  fissures 
in  its  masonry,  its  unglazed  windows,  the  embrasures  in  the 
battlements  of  the  tower  seen  against  the  sky,  and  the  roofs 
that  let  the  light  through  ;  the  birds  of  prey  that  flew  shriek- 
ing about  it  added  one  more  feature  to  the  vague  resemblance. 
A  few  lofty  fir-trees  behind  the  house  showed  their  dark 
waving  foliage  above  the  roofs,  and  some  yew-trees  that 
had  once  been  trimmed  as  a  sort  of  ornament  to  the  comers, 
now  made  for  it  a  setting  of  dismal  festoons  like  palls  at  a 
funeral. 

The  shape  of  the  doorways,  the  clumsiness  of  the  orna- 


144  THE   CHOUANS. 

ments,  the  want  of  symmetry  in  the  construction,  and  every- 
thing, in  fact,  about  the  mansion,  showed  that  it  was  one  of 
those  feudal  manor-houses  of  which  Brittany  is  proud ;  not 
without  reason  it  may  be,  for  in  this  Celtic  land  they  form 
monuments  to  the  nebulous  history  of  a  time  when  as  yet  the 
Monarchy  was  not  established.  In  Mile,  de  Verneuil's 
imagination  the  word  "  chateau  "  always  called  up  a  conven- 
tional type,  so  that  she  was  greatly  struck  with  the  funereal 
aspect  of  the  picture  before  her.  She  sprang  lightly  from  the 
coach,  and  stood  by  herself  looking  about  her  in  dismay,  and 
meditating  on  the  part  that  she  ought  to  play. 

Francine  heard  Mme.  du  Gua  give  a  sigh  of  joy  when  she 
found  herself  free  of  the  escort  of  Blues ;  and  an  involuntary 
exclamation  broke  from  her  when  the  gate  was  shut,  and  she 
found  herself  within  this  kind  of  natural  fortress.  Montauran 
had  hurried  eagerly  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil ;  he  guessed  the 
nature  of  the  thoughts  that  filled  her  mind. 

"This  chdteau,"  he  said,  with  a  shade  of  melancholy  in 
his  voice,  "was  ruined  in  the  war,  just  as  the  plans  which  I 
projected  for  our  happiness  have  been  ruined  by  you." 

"  And  in  what  way?  "  she  inquired  in  utter  astonishment. 

"Are  you,  a  beautiful  young  woman,  witty,  and  nobly 
born  ?  "  he  said  in  caustic  tones,  repeating  for  her  the  words 
which  she  had  spoken  so  coquettishly  during  their  conversa- 
tion by  the  way. 

"  Who  has  told  you  otherwise? " 

"  Friends  of  mine,  worthy  of  credence,  who  are  deeply  in- 
terested in  my  safety,  and  are  on  the  watch  to  baffle 
treachery. ' ' 

"Treachery!"  said  she,  with  a  satirical  look.  "Are 
Alen^on  and  Hulot  so  far  away  already  ?  You  have  a  poor 
memory,  a  perilous  defect  in  the  leader  of  a  party !  But  if 
friends  begin  to  exert  so  powerful  a  sway  over  your  heart," 
she  went  on  with  matchless  insolence,  "  pray  keep  your 
friends.     There  is  nothing  which  can  be  compared  with  the 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCH&S.  146 

pleasures   of   friendship.     Farewell !    for   neither   I   nor   the 
soldiers  of  the  Republic  will  enter  here !  " 

She  darted  towards  the  gateway  in  her  wounded  pride  and 
scorn,  but  there  was  a  dignity  and  a  desperation  about  her 
flight  that  wrought  a  change  in  the  ideas  of  the  Marquis  con- 
cerning her.  He  could  not  but  be  imprudent  and  credulous, 
for  he  could  only  forego  his  desires  at  too  great  a  cost  to  him- 
self. He,  also,  was  already  in  love,  so  that  neither  of  the 
lovers  had  any  wish  to  protract  their  quarrel. 

"Only  a  word,  and  I  believe  you,"  he  said,  with  entreaty 
in  his  voice. 

"A  word!"  she  answered  in  an  ironical  tone,  "not  so 
much  as  a  gesture,"  and  her  lips  were  tightly  strained  to- 
gether. 

"Scold  me  at  any  rate,"  he  entreated,  trying  to  take  the 
hand  which  she  withdrew,  "  if,  indeed,  you  dare  to  pout  with 
a  rebel  chieftain,  who  is  now  as  sullen  and  suspicious  as  he 
was  formerly  light-hearted  and  confiding." 

There  was  no  anger  in  Marie's  look,  so  the  Marquis  went 
on,  "  You  have  my  secret,  and  I  have  not  yours." 

A  darker  shade  seemed  to  cross  her  alabaster  brow  at  the 
words.  Marie  looked  angrily  at  the  chief  and  replied,  "  My 
secret?     Never?" 

Every  word,  every  glance,  has  at  the  moment  its  own  elo- 
quence in  love ;  but  Mile,  de  Verrieuil's  words  had  conveyed 
no  definite  meaning,  and  for  Montauran,  clever  as  he  might 
be,  the  significance  of  her  exclamation  remained  undecipher- 
able. And  yet  her  woman's  voice  had  betrayed  an  emotion 
by  no  means  ordinary,  which  was  still  in  evidence  to  excite 
his  curiosity. 

"  You  have  a  pleasant  way  of  dispelling  suspicions,"  he 
began. 

"  So  you  still  harbor  them  ?  "  she  inquired,  and  her  eyes 
scanned  him  curiously  as  if  to  say,  "  Have  you  any  rights 
over  me?" 
10 


146  THE   CHOUANS. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  the  young  man,  who  looked  at  once 
submissive  and  resolute,  "  the  authority  you  exercise  over  the 
Republican  troops,  and  this  escort " 

"  Ah,  that  reminds  me?  Are  we,  my  escort  and  I  (your 
protectors  as  a  matter  of  fact),  in  security  here?"  she  asked 
with  a  trace  of  irony. 

"  Yes,  on  my  faith  as  a  gentleman  !  Whoever  you  may  be, 
you  and  yours  have  nothing  to  fear  in  my  house." 

The  impulse  that  prompted  this  pledge  was  evidently  so 
generous  and  so  staunch  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  not  but 
feel  absolutely  at  rest  as  to  the  fate  of  the  Republicans.  She 
was  about  to  speak,  when  Mme.  du  Gua's  presence  imposed 
silence  upon  her.  Mme.  du  Gua  had  either  overheard  the 
conversation  of  the  two  lovers,  or  she  had  partly  guessed  at  it, 
and  it  was  in  consequence  no  ordinary  anxiety  that  she  felt 
when  she  saw  them  in  a  position  which  no  longer  implied  the 
slightest  unfriendliness.  At  sight  of  her,  the  Marquis  offered 
his  hand  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  and  went  quickly  towards  the 
house,  as  if  to  rid  himself  of  an  intrusive  companion. 

**  I  am  in  the  way,"  said  the  stranger  lady  to  herself,  with- 
out moving  from  the  place  where  she  stood.  She  watched 
the  two  reconciled  lovers,  moving  slowly  now,  on  their  way 
to  the  entrance  flight  of  steps,  where  they  came  to  a  stand 
that  they  might  talk,  so  soon  as  they  had  put  a  distance  be- 
tween themselves  and  her. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  am  in  their  way  !  "  she  went  on,  speaking  to 
herself;  '*  but  in  a  little  while  the  creature  yonder  will  not  be 
in  my  way  any  longer ;  the  pond,  pardieu  J  shall  be  her  grave. 
I  shall  not  violate  your  "  faith  as  a  gentleman."  Once  under 
that  water,  what  is  there  to  fear  ?  Will  she  not  be  safe  down 
below  there?  " 

She  was  staring  at  the  calm  mirror-like  surface  of  the  little 
lake  to  the  right  of  the  courtyard,  when  she  heard  a  rustling 
sound  among  the  briars  on  the  embankment,  and  by  the  light 
of  the  moon  she  saw  Marche-a-Terre's  face  rise  up  above  the 


A   NOTIOIV  OF  FOUCH&'S.  147 

knotty  trunk  of  an  old  willow-tree.  One  had  to  know  the 
Chouan  well  to  make  him  out  among  the  confusion  of  pollard 
trunks,  for  one  of  which  he  might  readily  be  taken.  First 
of  all,  Mme.  du  Gua  looked  suspiciously  round  about  her. 
She  saw  the  postilion  leading  the  horses  round  into  a  stable, 
situated  in  that  wing  of  the  chateau  which  fronted  the  bank 
where  Marche-a-Terre  was  hiding ;  she  watched  Francine  go 
towards  the  two  lovers,  who  had  forgotten  everything  else  on 
earth  just  then  ;  and  she  came  forward  with  a  finger  on  her 
lips  to  enjoin  absolute  silence,  so  that  the  Chouan  rather 
understood  than  heard  the  words  that  followed  next,  "  How 
many  are  there  of  you  here  ?  " 

"Eighty-seven." 

**  They  are  only  sixty-five,  for  I  counted  them." 

"Good,"  the  savage  answered  with  cruel  satisfaction. 
Heedful  of  Francine's  slightest  movement,  the  Chouan  van- 
ished into  the  hollow  willow  trunk,  as  he  saw  her  return  to 
keep  a  lookout  for  a  woman  whom  her  instinct  told  her  to 
watch  as  an  enemy. 

Seven  or  eight  people  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  steps, 
brought  out  by  the  sounds  of  the  arrival  of  the  coach. 

"It  is  the  Gars!"  they  exclaimed.  "It  is  he;  here  he 
is!" 

Others  came  running  up  at  their  exclamations,  and  the  talk 
between  the  two  lovers  was  interrupted  by  their  presence. 
The  Marquis  of  Montauran  made  a  rush  towards  these  gentle- 
men, called  for  silence  with  an  imperative  gesture,  and  made 
them  look  at  the  top  of  the  avenue  through  which  the  Repub- 
lican soldiers  were  defiling.  At  the  sight  of  the  familiar  blue 
uniform  turned  up  with  red,  and  the  gleaming  bayonets,  the 
astonished  conspirators  exclaimed — 

"  Can  you  have  come  back  to  betray  us  ?  " 

"I  should  not  warn  you  of  the  peril  if  I  had,"  said  the 
Marquis,  smiling  bitterly.  "Those  Blues,"  he  went  on  after 
a  pause,  "  are  this  young  lady's  escort.       Her  generosity 


148  THE   CHOUANS. 

rescued  us,  by  a  miracle,  from  a  danger  which  all  but  over- 
whelmed us  in  an  inn  in  Alengon.  We  will  give  you  the 
history  of  the  adventure.  Mademoiselle  and  her  escort  are 
here  on  my  parole,  and  must  be  welcomed  as  friends." 

Mme.  du  Gua  and  Francine  having  come  as  far  as  the  flight 
of  steps,  the  Marquis  gallantly  presented  his  hand  to  Mile,  de 
Verneuil,  the  group  of  gentlemen  fell  back  into  two  rows  in 
order  to  let  them  pass,  and  every  one  tried  to  discern  the 
features  of  the  newcomer,  for  Mme.  du  Gua  had  already 
stimulated  their  curiosity  by  making  several  furtive  signs  to 
them. 

In  the  first  room  Mme.  de  Verneuil  saw  a  large  table  hand- 
somely furnished  and  set  for  a  score  of  guests.  The  dining- 
room  opened  into  a  vast  saloon,  where  the  company  were  very 
soon  assembled  together.  Both  apartments  were  in  keeping 
with  the  appearance  of  dilapidation  about  the  exterior  of  the 
chateau.  The  wainscot  was  of  polished  walnut,  ill  carved 
with  poor  and  rough  designs  in  bold  relief;  but  it  was  split 
by  great  cracks,  and  seemed  ready  to  fall  to  pieces.  The  dark 
color  of  the  wood  seemed  to  make  the  mirrorless  and  curtain- 
less  rooms  more  dismal  yet ;  and  the  antiquated  and  crazy 
furniture  matched  the  ruinous  aspect  of  everything  else. 
Marie  noticed  maps  and  plans  lying  out  unrolled  upon  a  great 
table,  and  a  stack  of  weapons  and  rifles  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 
Everything  spoke  of  an  important  conference  among  the 
Vendean  and  Chouan  chiefs.  Tlie  Marquis  led  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  to  an  enormous  worm-eaten  armchair  which  stood 
beside  the  hearth,  and  Francine  took  up  her  position  behind 
her  mistress,  leaning  upon  the  back  of  the  venerable  piece  of 
furniture. 

"You  will  give  me  leave  to  do  my  duty  as  host  for  a 
moment?  "  said  the  Marquis,  as  he  left  the  two  newcomers  to 
mingle  with  the  groups  his  guests  had  formed. 

Francine  saw  how  at  a  word  or  two  from  Montauran,  the 
chiefs  hastily  concealed  their  weapons  and  maps  and  anything 


A  NOTION  OF  F0UCH£'S.  149 

else  which  could  arouse  the  suspicions  of  the  Republican 
officers.  One  or  two  of  the  chiefs  divested  themselves  of 
wide  leather  belts,  furnished  with  hunting-knives  and  pistols. 
The  Marquis  recommended  the  greatest  discretion,  and  left  the 
room,  apologizing  for  the  absence  necessary  to  provide  for  the 
reception  of  the  inconvenient  guests  which  chance  had  thrust 
upon  him.  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  was  trying  to  warm  her  feet 
at  the  fire,  had  allowed  Montauran  to  leave  her,  without  turn- 
ing her  head ;  and  thus  disappointed  the  expectations  of  the 
onlookers,  who  were  all  anxious  to  see  her  face.  Francine  was 
the  sole  witness  of  the  change  wrought  among  those  assembled 
by  the  young  chiefs  departure.  The  gentlemen  gathered  round 
the  stranger  lady,  and  during  the  murmured  conversation 
which  was  carried  on  among  them,  there  was  no  one  present 
who  did  not  look  again  and  again  at  the  two  strangers. 

"You  know  Montauran!"  she  said.  "He  fell  in  love 
with  this  girl  at  first  sight,  and  you  can  easily  understand  that 
the  soundest  advice  was  suspicious  to  him  when  it  came  from 
my  mouth.  Our  friends  in  Paris,  and  Messieurs  de  Valois 
and  d'Esgrignon  at  Alen^on,  one  and  all  warned  him  of  the 
trap  they  want  to  set  for  him,  by  flinging  some  hussy  at  his 
head,  and  he  is  bewitched  with  the  first  one  he  comes  across ; 
a  girl  who,  if  all  I  can  learn  about  her  is  correct,  has  taken  a 
noble  name,  only  to  tarnish  it,  who  " and  so  on,  and  so  on. 

This  lady,  in  whom  the  woman  that  decided  the  attack  on 
the  turgotine  can  be  recognized,  will  keep  throughout  this 
story  the  name  which  enabled  her  to  escape  in  the  perils  of 
her  journey  through  Alen^on.  The  publication  of  her  real 
name  could  only  displease  a  noble  family,  who  have  suffered 
deeply  already  from  the  errors  of  this  young  person,  whose 
fortunes  have,  moreover,  been  taken  for  the  subject  of  another 
drama. 

Very  soon  the  attitude  of  the  company  changed,  and 
simple  curiosity  grew  to  be  impertinent,  and  almost  hostile. 
Two  or  three  rather  harsh  epithets  reached  Francine's  ears. 


150  THE   CHOUANS. 

who  spoke  a  word  to  her  mistress,  and  took  refuge  in  the 
embrasure  of  a  window.  Marie  rose,  and  turned  her  glances 
filled  with  dignity,  and  even  with  scorn,  upon  the  insolent 
group.  Her  beauty,  and  her  pride  and  the  refinement  of  her 
manner,  worked  a  sudden  change  in  the  attitude  of  her 
enemies,  and  called  forth  an  involuntary  flattering  murmur 
from  them.  Two  or  three  men  among  them,  whose  exterior 
polish  and  habits  of  gallantry  revealed  that  they  had  been 
acquired  in  the  lofty  spheres  of  courts,  came  up  to  Marie  in  a 
free  and  easy  manner ;  her  modest  reserve  compelled  their  re- 
spect, none  of  them  dared  to  address  a  word  to  her,  and,  so 
far  from  being  accused  by  them,  it  was  she  who  seemed  to  sit 
in  judgment  upon  them. 

The  chiefs  in  this  war  undertaken  for  God  and  the  King 
bore  very  little  resemblance  to  the  fancy  portraits  which  she 
had  been  pleased  to  draw  of  them.  The  real  grandeur  of  the 
struggle  was  diminished  for  her ;  it  shrank  into  mean  dimen- 
sions when  she  saw  (two  or  three  energetic  faces  excepted)  the 
country  gentlemen  about  her,  every  one  of  them  entirely  de- 
void of  character  and  vigor.  Marie  came  down  all  at  once 
from  poetry  to  prose.  At  first  sight  these  faces  seemed  to 
manifest  a  craving  for  intrigue  rather  than  a  love  of  glory  ;  it 
was  really  self-interest  that  had  set  each  man's  hand  to  his 
sword;  so  if  they  grew  heroic  figures  in  the  field,  here  they 
appeared  as  they  actually  were.  The  loss  of  her  illusions 
made  Mile,  de  Verneuil  unjust,  and  prevented  her  from  rec- 
ognizing the  real  devotion  that  distinguished  several  of  these 
men.  But  most  of  them,  for  all  that,  were  of  a  commonplace 
turn.  If  a  few  faces  among  them  were  marked  out  by  a 
character  of  their  own,  it  was  spoiled  by  a  certain  pettiness 
due  to  aristocratic  etiquette  and  convention.  So  if  Marie's 
generosity  allowed  them  to  be  astute  and  shrewd,  she  found 
no  trace  among  them  of  the  simpler  and  larger  way  of  look- 
ing at  things,  which  the  men  and  the  successes  of  the  Republic 
had  always  led  her  to  expect. 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHi.'S.  161 

This  nocturnal  confabulation  in  the  old  ruined  stronghold, 
beneath  the  quaintly-carved  beams  that  were  no  ill  match  for 
the  faces  below,  made  her  smile ;  she  was  inclined  to  see  it  all 
as  a  typical  presentation  of  the  Monarchy.  Then  she  thought 
with  delight  that  at  any  rate  the  Marquis  took  the  first  place 
among  these  men,  whose  sole  merit  in  her  eyes  lay  in  their  de- 
votion to  a  lost  cause.  She  drew  the  outlines  of  her  lover's 
face  upon  that  background  of  figures,  and  pleased  herself  with 
the  way  in  which  he  stood  out  against  it ;  all  these  meagre 
and  thin  personalities  were  but  tools  in  his  hands,  wherewith 
to  carry  out  his  own  noble  purposes. 

Just  then  the  returning  footsteps  of  the  Marquis  sounded 
from  the  next  room  ;  the  conspirators  broke  up  into  knots  at 
once,  and  there  was  an  end  to  the  whisperings.  They  looked 
like  school-boys  who  have  been  up  to  some  mischief  in  their 
master's  absence,  hurriedly  restoring  an  appearance  of  order 
and  silence.  Montauran  came  in.  The  happiness  of  admir- 
ing him,  of  seeing  him  take  the  first  place  among  these  folk, 
the  youngest  and  handsomest  man  among  them,  fell  to  Marie. 
He  went  from  group  to  group,  like  a  king  among  his  courtiers, 
distributing  slight  nods,  handshakes,  glances,  and  words  that 
indicated  a  good  understanding  or  a  tinge  of  reproach ;  play- 
ing his  part  as  a  partisan  leader  with  a  grace  and  self-posses- 
sion which  could  hardly  have  been  looked  for  in  a  young  man 
whom  she  had  set  down  at  first  as  a  feather-brain.  The  pres- 
ence of  the  Marquis  had  put  a  stop  to  their  inquisitive  demon- 
strations with  regard  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  but  Mme.  du 
Gua's  spitefulness  soon  showed  its  effects.  The  Baron  du 
Guenic,  nicknamed  F Intime,  who,  among  all  these  men  thus 
brought  together  by  weighty  considerations,  seemed  best  enti- 
tled by  his  name  and  rank  to  speak  on  familiar  terms  with 
Montauran,  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm,  and  drew  him  into  a 
corner, 

"  Listen,  my  dear  Marquis,"  he  said  ;  "  we  are  all  sorry  to 
see  you  about  to  commit  a  flagrant  piece  of  folly." 


152  THE   CHOUANS. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  remark  ?  " 

"  Who  can  tell  where  this  girl  comes  from,  what  she  really 
is,  and  what  her  designs  upon  you  may  be  ?  " 

"  Between  ourselves,  my  dear  I'lntime,  my  fancy  will  have 
passed  off  by  to-morrow  morning." 

**  Just  so ;  but  how  if  the  gipsy  betrays  you  before  the 
morning ?  " 

"  I  will  answer  you  that  when  you  tell  me  why  she  has  not 
already  done  so,"  answered  Montauran  jestingly,  assuming  an 
air  of  exceeding  self-complacency. 

"  If  she  has  taken  a  liking  to  you,  she  would  have  no  mind 
perhaps  to  betray  you  till  her  fancy  too  had  passed  off. 

"Just  take  a  look  at  that  charming  girl,  my  dear  fellow; 
notice  her  manners,  and  dare  to  tell  me  that  she  is  not  a 
woman  of  good  birth  !  If  she  sent  a  favorable  glance  in 
your  direction,  would  you  not  feel,  in  the  depths  of  you, 
some  sort  of  respect  for  her?  A  certain  lady  has  prejudiced 
you  against  her,  but  after  what  we  have  just  said  to  each  other, 
if  she  was  one  of  those  abandoned  women  that  our  friends 
have  spoken  about,  I  would  kill  her." 

"  You  do  not  suppose  that  Fouche  would  be  fool  enough  to 
pick  up  a  girl  from  a  street  corner  to  send  after  you  ?  "  Mme. 
du  Gua  broke  in.  "  He  has  sent  some  one  likely  to  attract  a 
man  of  your  calibre.  But  if  you  are  blind,  your  friends 
will  have  their  eyes  open  to  watch  over  you." 

"Madame,"  answered  the  Gars,  darting  angry  glances  at 
her,"  take  care  to  make  no  attempt  against  this  person  or  her 
escort,  or  nothing  shall  save  you  from  my  vengeance.  It  is 
my  wish  that  mademoiselle  should  be  treated  with  the  greatest 
respect,  and  as  a  woman  who  is  under  my  protection.  We  are 
connected,  I  believe,  with  the  family  of  Verneuil." 

The  opposition  which  the  Marquis  encountered  produced 
the  effects  tliat  hindrances  of  this  sort  usually  cause  in  young 
people.  Lightly  as  he  apparently  held  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
when  he  gave  the  impression  that  his  infatuation  for  her  was 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCH^rS.  158 

only  a  whim,  his  feeling  of  personal  pride  had  forced  him  to 
take  a  considerable  step.  By  openly  acknowledging  her,  it 
became  a  question  of  his  own  honor  to  make  others  respect 
her,  so  he  went  from  group  to  group  assuring  every  one  that 
the  stranger  really  was  Mme.  de  Verneuil,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  whom  it  would  be  dangerous  to  contradict ;  and  all  the 
murmurs  were  silenced. 

As  soon  as  harmony  was  to  some  extent  re-established  in 
the  salon,  and  his  duties  as  host  detained  him  no  longer, 
Montauran  eagerly  returned  to  his  guest,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "  Those  people  yonder  have  robbed  me  of  a  moment 
of  happiness." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  have  you  beside  me,"  she  answered, 
smiling.  *'I  give  you  fair  warning;  I  am  inquisitive,  so 
do  not  grow  tired  of  my  questions  too  soon.  First  of  all,  tell 
me  who  that  worthy  person  is  in  the  green  waistcoat." 

"He  is  the  celebrated  Major  Brigaut  from  the  Marais,  a 
comrade  of  the  late  Mercier,  otherwise  called  La  Vendee." 

"And  who  is  the  stout  churchman  with  the  florid  counte- 
nance, with  whom  he  is  now  discussing  me?"  went  on  Mile, 
de  Verneuil. 

"  Do  you  want  to  know  what  they  are  saying  about  you?  " 

**  Do  I  want  to  know  ? Can  you  doubt  it  ?  " 

*'  But  I  could  not  tell  you  without  insulting  you." 
"  The  moment  that  you  allow  me  to  be  insulted  without 
wreaking  vengeance  for  any  affront  put  upon  me  in  your 
house,  I  bid  you  farewell,  Marquis.  Not  a  moment  longer 
will  I  stay.  I  have  felt  some  pangs  of  conscience  already  at 
deceiving  those  poor  trusting  and  trusty  Republicans."  She 
took  several  paces,  but  the  Marquis  went  after  her. 

"  My  dear  Marie,  hear  me.  Upon  my  honor,  I  have  silenced 
their  scandalous  talk  before  I  know  whether  it  is  false  or  true. 
But  our  friends  among  the  ministers  in  Paris  have  sent  warn- 
ing to  me  to  mistrust  every  sort  of  woman  that  comes  in  my 
way ;  telling  me  that  Fouch6  has  made  up  his  mind  to  make 


154  THE   CHOUANS. 

use  of  some  Judith  out  of  the  streets  against  me ;  and  in  my 
situation,  it  is  very  natural  that  my  best  friends  should  think 
that  you  are  too  handsome  to  be  an  honest  woman ' ' 

The  Marquis  looked  straight  into  the  depths  of  Mile,  de 
Verneuil's  eyes ;  her  color  rose,  she  could  not  keep  back  the 
tears. 

"Oh,  I  have  deserved  these  insults,"  she  cried.  "  I  would 
fain  see  you  convinced  that  I  am  a  despicable  creature,  and 
yet  know  myself  beloved — then  I  should  doubt  you  no  longer. 
I  believed  in  you  when  you  deceived  me,  but  you  have  no 
belief  in  me  when  I  am  sincere.  There,  that  is  enough,  sir  !  " 
she  said,  knitting  her  brows,  and  growing  white,  like  a  woman 
about  to  die.  "  Farewell."  She  fled  into  the  dining-room 
with  a  desperate  impulse. 

"Marie,  my  life  is  yours,"  said  the  young  Marquis  in  her 
ear.     She  stopped  and  looked  at  him. 

"No,  no,"  she  saidj  "I  will  be  generous.  Farewell. 
When  I  followed  you  hither,  I  was  mad  ;  I  was  thinking 
neither  of  my  own  past  nor  of  your  future." 

"  What !  you  leave  me  at  the  moment  when  I  lay  my  life  at 
your  feet " 

"  It  is  offered  in  a  moment  of  passion,  of  desire " 

"It  is  offered  without  regret  and  forever,"  said  he.  She 
came  back  again,  and  to  hide  his  emotion  the  Marquis  resumed 
their  conversation — 

"  That  stout  man  whose  name  you  asked  for  is  a  formidable 
person.  He  is  the  Abb6  Gudin,  one  of  those  Jesuits  who  are 
obstinate  enough,  or  may  be  devoted  enough,  to  stop  in  France 
in  the  teeth  of  the  edict  of  1763,  which  drove  them  into  exile. 
He  is  the  firebrand  of  war  in  these  parts,  and  a  propagandist 
of  the  religious  confraternity  named  after  the  Sacred  Heart. 
He  makes  use  of  religion  as  a  means  towards  his  ends,  so  he 
persuades  his  proselytes  that  they  will  come  to  life  again,  and 
he  understands  how  to  sustain  their  fanaticism  by  dexterously 
contrived  prophecy.     You   see  how  it  is :  one  must  seek  to 


A   NOTION  OF  F0UCH£'S.  155 

gain  over  every  one  through  his  private  interests,  in  order  to 
reach  a  great  end.     That  is  the  whole  secret  of  policy." 

"  And  that  muscular  person  in  a  vigorous  old  age,  with  such 
a  repulsive  face  ?  There,  look !  the  man  who  is  wearing  a 
ragged  lawyer's  gown." 

* '  Lawyer  !  He  aspires  to  the  title  of  tnarechal  de  camp. 
Have  you  never  heard  them  speak  of  Longuy?" 

"Is  that  he?"  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  startled.  "And 
you  make  use  of  such  men  as  he?" 

"  Hush  !  he  might  overhear  you.  Do  you  see  that  other 
man  in  unhallowed  converse  with  Mme.  du  Gua?" 

"  The  man  in  black  who  looks  like  a  judge  ?  " 

*'  He  is  one  of  our  diplomatists.  La  Billardiere,  the  son  of  a 
counsellor  in  the  Parliament  of  Brittany  ;  his  name  is  Flamet, 
or  something  like  it ;  but  he  is  in  the  confidence  of  the 
princes." 

"Then  there  is  his  neighbor,  who  is  clutching  his  white 
clay  pipe  at  this  moment,  and  leaning  the  fingers  of  his  right 
hand  against  the  panel  of  the  wainscot,  like  a  boor?"  said 
Mile,  de  Verneuil,  laughing. 

"Fardieu  /  your  guess  about  him  is  correct.  He  was  for- 
merly gamekeeper  to  that  lady's  husband,  now  deceased.  He 
is  in  command  of  one  of  the  companies,  which  I  am  opposing 
to  the  mobile  battalions.  He  and  Marche-a-Terre  are  perhaps 
the  most  scrupulously  loyal  servants  that  the  King  has  here- 
abouts. ' ' 

"  But  who  is  she  ?  " 

"She  was  Charette's  last  mistress,"  the  Marquis  replied. 
**  She  has  a  great  influence  over  everybody  here." 

"  Has  she  remained  faithful  to  his  memory?  "  All  the  an- 
swer vouchsafed  by  the  Marquis  was  a  dubious  kind  of  com- 
pression of  the  lips. 

"Have  you  a  good  opinion  of  her?" 

"  Really;  you  are  very  inquisitive  !  " 

"  She  is  my  enemy  because  she  can  be  my  rival  no  longer," 


156  THE  CHOUANS. 

said  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  laughing.  "  I  forgive  her  her  past 
errors,  so  let  her  forgive  mine.  Who  is  that  officer  with  the 
moustaches  ?  ' ' 

"  Permit  me  to  leave  his  name  unmentioned.  He  is  deter- 
mined to  rid  us  of  the  First  Consul  by  attacking  him  sword 
in  hand.  Whether  he  succeeds  or  no,  you  will  hear  of  him ; 
he  will  become  famous." 

*'  And  you  have  come  here  to  command  such  men  as  these  ?" 
she  said,  aghast,  "  and  these  are  the  King's  champions?  Where 
are  the  great  lords  and  the  gentlemen?" 

"Why,  they  are  scattered  throughout  every  court  in  Eu- 
rope!" said  the  Marquis  scornfully.  "Who  but  they  are 
enlisting  kings  with  their  armies  and  their  cabinets  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  House  of  Bourbon,  to  hurl  them  all  upon  this 
Republic,  which  is  threatening  monarchy  and  social  order 
everywhere  with  utter  destruction  !  " 

"Ah  !  "  she  answered  him,  stirred  by  an  enthusiastic  im- 
pulse, "  from  this  time  forward  be  for  me  the  pure  source 
whence  I  shall  draw  all  the  rest  of  the  ideas  that  I  must  learn  ; 
I  am  willing  that  it  should  be  so.  But  leave  me  the  thought 
that  you  are  the  one  noble  who  does  his  duty  in  attacking 
France  with  Frenchmen  and  not  with  foreign  auxiliaries.  I 
am  a  woman,  and  I  feel  that  if  my  own  child  were  to  strike 
me  in  anger,  I  could  forgive  him ;  but  if  he  could  see  me 
torn  in  pieces  by  a  stranger,  I  should  consider  him  a  mon- 
ster." 

"You  will  always  be  a  Republican  !"  said  the  Marquis, 
overcome  by  a  delightful  intoxication  ;  the  strong  feeling  in 
her  tones  had  strengthened  his  confident  hopes. 

"  A  Republican  ?  No  ;  I  am  that  no  longer.  I  should  not 
respect  you  if  you  were  to  make  your  submission  to  the  First 
Consul,"  she  replied.  "But  neither  should  I  be  willing  to 
see  you  at  the  head  of  the  men  who  are  plundering  a  corner 
of  France,  when  they  should  be  attacking  the  Republic  in 
form.     For  whom  are  you  fighting?    What  do  you  look  for 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCH^S.  157 

from  a  king  restored  to  the  throne  by  your  hands  ?  A  woman 
once  before  achieved  this  glorious  master-stroke,  and  the  King 
whom  she  delivered  let  them  burn  her  alive.  Such  as  he  are 
the  anointed  of  the  Lord,  and  it  is  perilous  to  touch  hallowed 
things.  Leave  it  to  God  alone  to  set  them  up,  to  take  them 
down,  or  to  replace  them  on  their  dais  among  the  purple.  If 
you  have  weighed  the  reward  that  will  be  meted  out  to  you, 
then  in  my  eyes  you  are  ten  times  greater  than  I  have  ever 
thought  you.  If  that  is  so,  trample  me  beneath  your  feet  if 
you  will ;  I  would  give  you  leave  to  do  so,  and  be  glad  !  " 

"  You  are  enchanting  !  But  do  not  try  to  urge  your  doc- 
trine on  these  gentlemen,  or  I  shall  be  left  without  soldiers." 

"  Ah  !  if  you  would  let  me  convert  you,  we  would  go  a 
thousand  leagues  away  from  here." 

**  These  men,  whom  you  appear  to  despise,  will  know  how 
to  die  in  the  struggle,"  said  the  Marquis  in  a  more  serious 
tone;  "and  all  their  faults  will  be  forgotten  then.  Besides, 
if  my  efforts  are  crowned  with  any  success,  will  not  the  laurels 
of  victory  hide  everything  ?  " 

"You  are  the  only  one  present  who  has  anything  to  lose, 
as  far  as  I  can  see." 

"I  am  not  the  only  one,"  he  replied  with  real  humility. 
**  There  are  those  two  Vendean  chiefs  over  there.  The  first 
one,  whom  you  have  heard  spoken  of  as  the  Grande-Jacques, 
is  the  Comte  de  Fontaine,  and  the  other  La  Billardiere,  whom 
I  have  already  pointed  out  to  you." 

"  Do  you  forget  Quiberon,  where  La  Billardiere  played  a 
very  strange  part  ?"  she  answered,  struck  by  a  sudden  thought 
of  the  past. 

"La  Billardiere  has  undertaken  heavy  responsibilities, 
believe  me.  Those  who  serve  the  princes  do  not  lie  upon 
roses." 

"You  make  me  shudder !  "  cried  Marie ;  then  she  went  on 
in  a  tone  which  indicated  that  she  was  keeping  in  the  back- 
ground some  mystery  that  concerned  him  personally.     "A 


158  THE   CHOUANS. 

single  moment  is  enough  for  the  destruction  of  an  illusion, 
and  to  reveal  secrets  on  which  the  lives  and  happiness  of 
many  men  depend."  She  paused  as  if  she  were  afraid  of 
having  said  too  much,  and  added,  "I  should  like  to  know 
that  the  soldiers  of  the  Republic  are  in  safety," 

"I  will  be  very  careful,"  he  said,  smiling  to  conceal  his 
agitation;  "but  say  no  more  about  your  soldiers,  I  have 
answered  for  them  to  you  on  the  faith  of  a  gentleman." 

"  And,  after  all,  what  right  had  I  to  dictate  to  you?  "  she 
resumed.  "  You  are  to  be  the  master  always  when  it  lies 
between  us  two.  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  I  should  be  in 
despair  to  reign  over  a  slave  ?  ' ' 

"  My  Lord  Marquis,"  said  Major  Brigaut  respectfully, 
interrupting  the  conversation,  "  will  the  Blues  remain  here 
for  some  time?  " 

**  They  will  go  on  again  as  soon  as  they  are  rested,"  Marie 
cried. 

The  Marquis  sent  searching  glances  round  the  company, 
observed  the  excitement  among  them,  went  from  Mile,  de 
Verneuil,  and  left  Mme.  du  Gua  to  take  his  place  at  her  side. 
The  young  chief's  sarcastic  smile  did  not  disturb  the  treacher- 
ous mask  of  good  humor  upon  her  features.  Just  as  she  came, 
Francine  uttered  a  cry  which  she  herself  promptly  stifled. 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  beheld  with  astonishment  her  faith- 
ful country-girl  dash  into  the  dining-room.  She  looked  at 
Mme.  du  Gua,  and  her  surprise  increased  when  she  saw  the 
pallor  that  overspread  the  face  of  her  enemy.  Curious  to 
learn  the  reason  of  this  hasty  flight,  she  turned  towards  the 
embrasure  of  the  window,  followed  thither  by  her  rival,  who 
wished  to  lull  any  suspicions  which  an  indiscretion  might 
have  awakened,  and  who  smiled  upon  her  with  indescribable 
spitefulness  as  they  returned  together  to  the  hearth  after  both 
had  glanced  over  the  landscape  and  the  lake.  Marie  had 
seen  nothing  which  justified  Francine's  departure,  and  Mme. 
du  Gua  was  satisfied  that  she  was  being  obeyed. 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCH&'S.  159 

The  lake,  from  the  brink  of  which  Marche-a-Terre  had 
appeared  in  the  courtyard  when  the  lady  called  him  forth, 
went  to  join  the  moat  that  surrounded  and  protected  the  gar- 
dens, forming  winding  stretches  of  water  with  mist  above  it, 
sometimes  as  wide  as  a  lake,  sometimes  as  narrow  as  the  orna- 
mental streams  contrived  in  parks.  The  steep  sloping  banks, 
past  which  the  clear  water  was  rippling,  ran  but  a  few  fathoms 
distant  from  the  windows.  Francinc  had  been  engaged  in 
musing  on  the  black  outlines  of  several  old  willow  stumps 
against  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  in  noticing  with  indiffer- 
ent eyes  the  uniform  curve  that  a  light  breeze  was  giving  to 
the  willow  branches.  Suddenly,  she  thought  she  saw  one  of 
these  shapes  moving,  on  the  mirror  of  the  water,  in  the  spon- 
taneous and  uneven  fashion  by  which  some  living  thing  is 
revealed.  The  shape,  howsoever  dim  it  was,  seemed  to  be 
that  of  a  man. 

At  first  Francine  gave  the  credit  of  her  vision  to  the  broken 
outlines  produced  by  the  moonlight  falling  through  the  leaves ; 
but  very  soon  a  second  head  appeared,  and  yet  others  showed 
themselves  in  the  distance.  The  low  shrubs  along  the  bank 
swayed  violently  up  and  down,  till  Francine  saw  along  the 
whole  length  of  hedge  a  gradual  motion  like  that  of  a  huge 
Indian  serpent  of  fabulous  proportions.  Here  and  there 
among  the  tufts  of  broom  and  the  brambles  points  of  light 
gleamed  and  danced.  Redoubling  her  attention,  Marche-^- 
Terre's  sweetheart  thought  that  she  recognized  the  first  of  the 
black  forms  that  moved  along  the  quivering  growth  on  the 
bank.  However  vague  the  outlines  of  the  man,  the  beating 
of  her  heart  convinced  her  that  in  him  she  saw  Marche-a- 
Terre. 

A  gesture  made  it  clear  to  her.  Impatient  to  learn  if  some 
treachery  or  other  were  not  lurking  behind  this  mysterious 
proceeding,  she  rushed  in  the  direction  of  the  court.  When 
she  came  into  the  middle  of  the  green  space,  she  looked  from 
the  two  wings  of  the  house  to  the  banks  on  either  side,  with- 


160  THE   C HO  VANS. 

out  discerning  any  trace  whatever  of  a  furtive  movement  on 
the  side  which  faced  the  inhabited  wing.  A  faint  rustling 
sound  reached  her;  as  she  lent  an  attentive  ear  to  it,  it 
sounded  like  a  noise  made  by  some  wild  creature  in  the  silence 
of  the  forests;  she  shuddered,  but  she  did  not  tremble. 
Young  and  innocent  as  she  yet  was,  her  curiosity  swiftly 
prompted  a  stratagem.  She  saw  the  coach,  and  ran  to  crouch 
within  it ;  only  raising  her  head,  with  all  the  caution  of  a  hare 
that  has  the  sound  of  the  far-off  hunt  ringing  in  her  ears.  She 
saw  Pille-Miche  come  out  of  the  stable.  There  were  two  peasants 
with  the  Chouan,  and  all  three  were  carrying  trusses  of  straw. 
These  they  spread  out  so  as  to  form  a  long  sort  of  shake-down 
in  front  of  the  inhabited  pile  of  buildings  that  ran  parallel 
with  the  embankment  where  the  stunted  trees  were  growing. 
The  Chouans  were  still  marching  there  with  a  noiselessness 
which  revealed  the  fact  that  some  horrible  plot  was  being 
prepared. 

**  You  are  giving  them  straw  as  if  they  really  were  to  sleep 
there.  That's  enough  !  Pille-Miche,  that's  enough  !  "  mut- 
tered a  hoarse  voice  which  Francine  recognized. 

"And  aren't  they  going  to  sleep  there?"  retorted  Pille- 
Miche,  with  a  stupid  horse-laugh.  "  But  are  you  not  afraid 
that  the  Gars  will  be  angry? "  he  went  on  in  a  voice  so  low 
that  Francine  caught  nothing  of  it. 

"Oh,  well,  he  will  be  angry,"  Marche-a-Terre  replied,  in 
rather  louder  tones;  "but  all  the  same,  we  shall  have  killed 
the  Blues.  There  is  a  carriage  here,"  he  went  on;  "we 
must  put  that  away." 

Pille-Miche  drew  the  coach  by  the  pole,  and  Marche-a- 
Terre  gave  such  a  vigorous  push  to  one  of  the  wheels,  that 
Francine  found  herself  inside  the  barn,  and  just  about  to  be 
locked  up  in  it,  before  she  could  think  over  her  situation. 
Pille-Miche  went  to  help  to  fetch  the  hogshead  of  cider  which 
was  to  be  served  out  to  the  soldiers  of  the  escort  by  the  orders 
of  the  Marquis.     Marche-a-Terre  walked  the  length  of  the 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHE'S.  161 

coach  on  his  way  out  to  shut  the  door,  when  he  felt  a  hand 
that  stopped  him  by  a  clutch  at  the  long  hair  of  his  goatskin. 
He  recognized  the  eyes  whose  sweetness  exercised  a  power 
over  him  like  magnetism,  and  stood  still  for  a  moment  as  if 
spellbound.  Francine  sprang  hastily  out  of  the  coach,  and 
spoke  in  the  aggressive  tone  that  is  so  wonderfully  becoming 
to  a  woman  in  vexation — 

**  Pierre,  what  news  did  you  bring,  as  we  came,  to  that  lady 
and  her  son  ?  What  are  they  doing  here  ?  Why  are  you  hid- 
ing yourself?     I  want  to  know  everything  ?" 

Her  words  brought  an  expression  into  the  Chouan's  face 
which  Francine  had  never  yet  known  there.  The  Breton 
drew  his  innocent  mistress  to  the  threshold  of  the  door;  he 
turned  her  so  that  the  white  rays  of  the  moonlight  fell  upon 
her,  and  made  his  answer,  gazing  at  her  the  while  with  ter- 
rible eyes — 

"  Yes,  by  my  damnation  !  Francine,  I  will  tell  you,  but 
only  when  you  have  sworn  to  me  on  this  rosary" — and  he 
drew  out  a  worn  string  of  beads  from  under  his  goatskin — 
"swear  upon  this  relic  that  you  know,"  he  went  on,  "to 
answer  me  truly  one  single  question." 

Francine  blushed  as  she  looked  at  the  rosary ;  some  lover's 
keepsake  between  them  doubtless. 

"  It  was  on  this,"  the  Chouan  went  on,  shaken  with  emo- 
tion, "  that  you  swore " 

He  did  not  finish,  for  the  peasant-girl  laid  her  hand  on  the 
lips  of  her  wild  lover  to  enjoin  silence  upon  him. 

**  Is  there  any  need  for  me  to  swear  ?  "asked  she. 

He  took  Francine  gently  by  the  hand,  looked  at  her  for 
a  moment,  and  went  on,  "  Is  the  young  lady  whom  you  serve 
really  Mile,  de  Verneuil  ?" 

Francine  stood  motionless  with  her  arms  at  her  sides,  with 
bowed  head  and  drooping  eyelids,  pale  and  confused. 

**  She  is  a  baggage  !  "  Marche-a-Terre  went  on  in  a  terrible 
voice. 
11 


162  THE   CHOUANS. 

The  pretty  hand  tried  once  more  to  cover  his  lips  at  that 
word,  but  this  time  he  recoiled  from  her  in  fury.  The  little 
Breton  maid  no  longer  saw  her  lover  before  her,  but  a  wild 
beast  in  all  his  natural  ferocity.  His  brows  were  drawn  into 
a  heavy  scowl ;  his  lips  curled  back  in  a  snarl  that  showed  his 
teeth ;  he  looked  like  a  dog  defending  his  master. 

**  I  left  you  a  flower,  and  I  find  you  garbage  !  Ah  !  why 
did  I  leave  you?  You  are  come  here  to  betray  us,  to  deliver 
up  the  Gars!" 

These  phrases  were  roared  rather  than  articulated.  Terri- 
fied as  Francine  was,  she  dared  to  look  this  savage  in  the  face 
at  this  last  reproach,  raised  her  eyes  like  an  angel's  to  his, 
and  answered  quietly — 

"  That  is  false ;  I  will  stake  my  salvation  on  it.  These  are 
some  of  your  lady's  notions." 

He  lowered  his  head  in  his  turn.  She  took  his  hand,  came 
close  to  him  caressingly,  and  said,  "  Pierre,  why  are  we  going 
on  like  this?  Listen,  I  do  not  know  if  you  yourself  under- 
stand something  of  all  this,  for  I  can  make  nothing  of  it. 
But  remember  that  this  beautiful  and  noble  young  lady  is  my 
benefactress,  and  yours  too — we  live  together  almost  iike 
sisters.  No  harm  of  any  sort  ought  to  come  to  her  so  long  as 
we  are  with  her — not  while  we  are  both  alive,  at  any  rate. 
So  swear  to  me  that  this  shall  be  so,  for  you  are  the  only 
person  here  whom  I  can  trust." 

"  I  am  not  the  master  here,"  the  Chouan  replied  in  a  sullen 
tone.  His  face  grew  dark.  She  took  his  great  hanging  ears 
and  gently  twisted  them  as  if  she  were  caressing  a  cat. 

"  Well,  then,  promise  me  to  use  all, the  power  you  have  to 
ensure  the  safety  of  our  benefactress,"  she  continued,  seeing 
that  he  relented  somewhat.  He  shook  his  head  as  if  dubious 
of  his  success,  a  gesture  that  made  the  Breton  girl  shudder. 
The  escort  arrived  on  the  causeway  at  this  critical  moment. 
The  tramp  of  the  men,  and  the  clanking  of  their  weapons, 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHE'S.  163 

woke  the  echoes  of  the  courtyard,  and  apparently  put  an  end 
to  Marche-a-Terre's  hesitation. 

"Perhaps  I  shall  succeed  in  saving  her,"  said  he  to  Fran- 
cine,  "  if  you  can  keep  her  in  the  house.  And  whatever  may 
happen,"  he  added,  "stay  there  with  her  and  keep  the  most 
absolute  secrecy.     Without  that  I  will  engage  for  nothing." 

"I  promise,"  she  answered  in  her  terror. 

"  Very  well ;  go  in.  In  with  you  at  once !  And  let  no 
one  see  that  you  are   frightened — not  even  your  mistress." 

"Yes." 

The  Chouan  looked  at  her  in  a  fatherly  way.  She  pressed 
his  hand  and  fled  with  the  swiftness  of  a  bird  towards  the 
flight  of  steps ;  while  he  slipped  into  the  hedge  he  had  left, 
like  an  actor  who  rushes  to  the  wings  as  the  curtain  rises 
on  a  tragedy. 

"  Do  you  know,  Merle,  this  place  looks  to  me  like  a  reg" 
ular  mouse-trap,"  said  Gerard,  as  they  reached  the  chateau. 

"Yes,  I  see  that  perfectly  well,"  the  captain  answered 
thoughtfully.  Both  officers  hastened  to  post  sentinels  so  as 
to  secure  the  causeway  and  the  gate ;  then  they  cast  sus- 
picious glances  over  the  embankments  and  the  lay  of  the 
land  about  them. 

"Pshaw!"  said  Merle;  "we  must  either  frankly  trust 
ourselves  in  these  barracks,  or  keep  out  of  them  altogether." 

"Let  us  go  in,"  answered  Gerard. 

Released  from  duty  by  a  word  from  their  commander, 
the  soldiers  quickly  stacked  their  guns  in  conical  piles,  and 
pitched  their  colors  in  front  of  the  litter  of  straw,  with  the 
cask  of  cider  standing  in  the  centre  of  it.  They  broke  up 
into  groups,  and  a  couple  of  peasants  began  to  serve  out  rye- 
bread  and  butter  to  them.  The  Marquis  came  forward  and 
took  the  two  officers  into  the  salon.  As  Gerard  reached  the 
top  of  the  flight  of  steps,  he  took  a  look  at  the  two  wings  of 
the  house  where  the  aged  larches  were  spreading  their  black 
branches,  and  called  Beau-Pied  and  Clef-des-Coeurs  to  him. 


164  THE   CHOUANS. 

"  Both  of  you  go  and  reconnoitre  the  gardens  and  search 
the  hedges.  Do  you  understand  ?  And  then  post  a  sentinel 
in  front  of  your  line  of  defence." 

"  May  we  light  a  fire  before  we  set  out  on  our  prowl,  adju- 
tant?" said  Clef-des-Ccfiurs. 

G6rard  nodded. 

"You  see  it  for  yourself,  Clef-des-Coeurs,"  said  Beau-Pied; 
"  the  adjutant  made  a  mistake  in  poking  himself  into  this 
hornet's  nest.  If  Hulot  had  been  commanding  us,  he  would 
never  have  run  us  into  this  corner ;  it  is  as  if  we  were  in  the 
bottom  of  a  pot  here." 

"What  an  ass  you  are!"  exclaimed  Clef-des-Coeurs. 
"You,  the  king  of  sharp  fellows,  can't  guess  that  this  sentry- 
box  of  a  chateau  belongs  to  the  amiable  individual  for  whom 
our  gay  Merle,  the  most  accomplished  of  captains,  is  tuning 
his  pipe.  He  is  going  to  marry  her,  that  is  as  easy  to  see  as  a 
well-polished  bayonet ;  and  such  a  woman  as  that  will  be  a 
credit  to  the  demi -brigade." 

"  True,"  answered  Beau-Pied,  "and  you  might  add  that 
there  b  good  cider  here,  but  I  can't  drink  it  with  any  relish 
in  front  of  those  beastly  hedges.  I  seem  to  see  Larose  and 
Vieux-Chapeau  coming  to  grief  in  the  ditch  up  yonder  on  La 
Pelerine.  I  shall  never  forget  poor  old  Larose's  queue  as  long 
as  I  live ;  it  bobbed  up  and  down,  like  a  knocker  on  a  front 
door." 

"  Beau-Pied,  my  friend,  you  have  too  much  imagination 
for  a  soldier.  You  ought  to  make  poetry  at  the  National 
Institute." 

"  If  I  have  too  much  imagination,"  Beau-Pied  answered, 
"  you  yourself  have  hardly  any.  It  will  be  a  good  while 
before  you  come  to  be  consul."  And  the  witty  Beau-Pied 
felt  that  he  had  the  best  of  his  comrade. 

The  laughter  of  the  troop  put  an  end  to  the  dispute,  as 
Clef-des-Coeurs  found  no  answering  shaft  for  his  adversary  in 
his  quiver. 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCH&S.  165 

**  Are  you  ready  to  make  your  round  ?  I  myself  am  going 
to  take  to  the  right,"  said  Beau-Pied. 

"All  right;  I  will  take  the  left,"  his  comrade  answered. 
"  But  hold  on  a  moment !  I  want  to  drink  a  glass  of  cider ; 
my  throat  is  all  glued  together  like  the  sticking-plaster  that 
covered  Hulot's  best  hat." 

Unluckily,  the  perilous  embankment,  where  Francine  had 
seen  the  men  moving,  lay  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  gardens, 
which  Clef-des-Coeurs  was  neglecting  to  beat  up  at  once. 
War  is  altogether  a  game  of  chance. 

As  Gerard  entered  the  salon  and  saluted  the  company,  he 
gave  a  searching  look  around  at  the  men  of  whom  it  was  com- 
posed. His  suspicions  recurred  to  his  mind  in  greater  force. 
He  went  suddenly  up  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil  and  spoke  to  her 
in  a  low  voice,  "  I  think  you  ought  to  make  a  retreat  at  once; 
we  are  not  safe  here." 

"Can  you  fear  anything  in  my  house?"  she  asked,  laugh- 
ing.    "  You  are  safer  here  than  you  would  be  in  Mayenne." 

A  woman  always  answers  unhesitatingly  for  her  lover.  The 
two  officers  were  less  uneasy ;  and  just  then,  in  spite  of  some 
unimportant  remarks  about  an  absent  guest  whose  consequence 
was  sufficient  to  keep  them  waiting  for  him,  the  company 
went  into  the  dining-room.  Thanks  to  the  usual  silence 
which  prevails  at  the  beginning  of  a  meal,  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
could  pay  some  attention  to  this  meeting,  so  strange  under 
the  present  circumstances.  She  herself  had  in  a  manner  been 
the  cause  of  it.  It  had  come  about  through  the  ignorance 
which  women  who  treat  everything  according  to  their  own 
caprice  are  wont  to  bring  to  the  most  critical  actions  in  life. 
One  fact  suddenly  struck  her  with  surprise.  The  two  Repub- 
lican officers  towered  above  the  others  by  the  impressive  char- 
acter of  their  features.  Their  long  hair  was  drawn  away  from 
the  temples  and  gathered  at  the  nape  of  the  neck  into  a  huge 
plaited  tail,  leaving  the  outlines  of  their  foreheads  clearly 
defined  in  a  way  that  gives  an  appearance  of  sincerity  and 


166  THE   CHOUANS. 

dignity  to  a  young  face.  Their  threadbare  blue  uniforms, 
with  the  worn  red  facings.  Their  epaulettes  flung  behind 
their  shoulders  in  many  a  march  (plainly  showing  a  lack  of 
greatcoats  throughout  the  army,  even  among  the  officers  them- 
selves) ;  everything  about  them,  in  fact,  brought  out  the 
strong  contrast  between  these  two  military  men  and  the  others 
who  surrounded  them. 

"  Ah,"  she  said  to  herself,  **  this  is  the  nation ;  this  is  lib- 
erty!" Then  she  glanced  round  the  Royalists,  ^^zxA  there 
is  the  one  man,  a  king  and  privilege  !  "  she  said. 

She  could  not  help  admiring  Merle's  face;  the  gallant  sol- 
dier so  completely  resembled  the  typical  French  trooper,  who 
can  whistle  an  air  as  the  bullets  fall  thick  about  him,  and  who 
cannot  forego  a  gibe  at  a  comrade  who  meets  with  an  awk- 
ward accident,  Gerard  was  impressive.  In  his  sternness  and 
self-possession  he  seemed  to  be  one  of  those  Republicans  from 
conviction,  who  were  to  be  met  with  in  such  numbers  at  this 
time  in  the  French  armies — an  element  of  noble  unobtrusive 
devotion,  that  lent  to  them  an  energy  never  known  before. 

"  There  is  another  of  these  men  with  a  large  outlook,"  said 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  herself.  "  They  are  the  masters  of  the 
present  on  which  they  take  their  stand ;  they  are  shattering 
the  past,  but  it  is  for  the  benefit  of  the  future." 

The  thought  made  her  melancholy,  because  it  had  no  bear- 
ing upon  her  lover.  She  turned  toward  him,  that  a  different 
feeling  of  admiration  might  make  reparation  for  her  tribute 
to  that  Republic  which  she  already  began  to  hate.  She  saw 
the  Marquis  surrounded  by  men  fanatical  and  daring  enough, 
and  sufficiently  keen  speculators  to  attack  a  triumphant  Re- 
public in  the  hope  of  reinstating  a  dead  monarchy,  a  pro- 
scribed religion,  princes  errant,  and  defunct  privileges.  **  His 
scope  of  action,"  she  thought,  "  is  no  less  than  that  of  the 
other ;  he  is  groping  among  the  ruins  of  a  past  out  of  which 
he  seeks  to  make  a  future." 

Her  imagination,  fancy-fed,  hesitated  between  the  new  and 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHE'S.  167 

the  old  ruins.  Her  conscience  clamored  in  her,  that  the  one  was 
fighting  for  a  man  and  the  other  for  a  country ;  but  by  means 
of  sentiment  she  had  arrived  at  the  point  which  is  reached  by 
the  way  of  reason,  when  it  is  recognized  that  the  King  is  the 
same  thing  as  the  country. 

The  Marquis  heard  the  sound  of  a  man's  footsteps'in  the 
salon,  and  rose  to  go  to  meet  him.  He  recognized  the 
belated  guest  who  tried  to  speak  to  him,  in  surprise  at  his 
company ;  but  the  Gars  hid  from  the  Republicans  a  sign  by 
which  he  desired  the  stranger  to  take  his  place  at  the  banquet 
and  to  keep  silence.  When  the  two  Republican  ofl&cers  ex- 
amined the  features  of  their  hosts,  the  suspicions  at  first  enter- 
tained by  them  awoke  afresh.  Their  prudence  was  aroused  at 
the  sight  of  the  Abbe  Gudin's  ecclesiastical  vestments  and  the 
outlandish  costumes  of  the  Chouans.  Their  heed  redoubled ; 
they  discovered  amusing  contrasts  between  the  talk  and  the 
manners  of  their  guests.  If  some  of  them  showed  symptoms 
of  ultra-Republicanism,  the  bearing  of  certain  others  was  just 
as  pronouncedly  aristocratic.  Certain  glances  exchanged  be- 
tween the  Marquis  and  his  guests,  which  they  detected,  certain 
ambiguous  words  incautiously  dropped ;  and  more  than  either 
of  these  things,  the  round  beards  which  adorned  the  throats 
of  several  guests  who  unsuccessfully  tried  to  conceal  them  by 
their  cravats,  apprised  the  officers  of  the  truth,  which  struck 
them  both  at  the  same  moment. 

They  communicated  the  same  thought  to  each  other  by  the 
same  glance,  for  Mme.  du  Gua  had  cleverly  separated  them, 
and  they  had  to  fall  back  upon  the  language  of  the  eyes.  The 
situation  required  that  they  should  act  adroitly.  They  did 
not  know  whether  they  were  the  masters  of  the  chateau,  or 
whether  they  had  been  snared  in  a  trap ;  they  had  no  idea 
whether  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  a  dupe  or  an  accomplice  in 
this  inexplicable  affair ;  but  an  unforeseen  occurrence  hurried 
matters  to  a  crisis  before  they  could  fully  recognize  its  gravity. 

The  newly-arrived  guest  was  one  of  those  men,  squarely 


168  THE   CHOUANS. 

built  in  every  way,  with  a  high-colored  complexion,  who  fling 
their  shoulders  back  as  they  walk,  who  seem  to  make  a  flutter 
in  the  atmosphere  round  about  them,  and  to  be  of  the  opinion 
that  every  one  needs  must  take  more  than  one  look  at  them. 
In  spite  of  his  noble  birth,  he  had  taken  life  as  a  joke  which 
must  be  made  the  best  of;  and  though  he  had  a  devout  ven- 
eration for  himself,  he  was  good-natured,  well-mannered,  and 
witty,  after  the  manner  of  those  gentlemen  who,  having  fin- 
ished their  education  at  court,  have  retired  to  their  estates ; 
whereon,  even  after  the  lapse  of  twenty  years,  they  will  never 
believe  that  they  have  grown  rusty.  Men  of  this  description 
say  and  do  the  wrong  thing  with  assured  self-possession  ;  they 
talk  rubbish  in  a  lively  way,  show  no  little  skill  in  fighting  shy 
of  good  fortune,  and  take  incredible  pains  to  run  their  heads 
into  nooses.  He  made  up  for  lost  time  by  plying  his  knife 
and  fork  in  a  way  which  showed  him  to  be  a  stout  trencher- 
man, and  then  gave  a  look  round  at  the  company.  At  the 
sight  of  the  two  officers  his  surprise  was  redoubled ;  he 
directed  a  questioning  look  at  Mme.  du  Gua,  who  only  replied 
by  indicating  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  When  he  set  eyes  on  the 
siren  whose  beauty  was  beginning  to  lay  to  rest  the  thoughts 
which  Mme.  du  Gua  had  at  first  aroused  in  the  minds  of  the 
guests,  one  of  those  insolent  and  derisive  smiles  that  seem  to 
convey  a  whole  scandalous  chronicle  broke  over  the  counte- 
nance of  the  stout  stranger.  He  bent  and  whispered  to  his 
neighbor  two  or  three  words  that  remained  a  mystery  for  Marie 
and  the  officers,  as  they  traveled  from  ear  to  ear  and  from 
mouth  to  mouth,  till  they  reached  the  heart  of  him  into  whom 
they  must  strike  death. 

The  Vendean  and  Chouan  chiefs  turned  their  scrutiny  upon 
the  Marquis  of  Montauran  with  merciless  curiosity.  Mme. 
du  Gua's  eyes  were  radiant  with  joy  as  they  traveled  from  the 
Marquis  to  the  astonished  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  The  anxious 
officers  seemed  to  consult  each  other  as  they  awaited  the  upshot 
of  this  extraordinary  scene.     Then  in  a  moment  the  knives 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCHE'S.  169 

and  forks  in  all  hands  ceased  to  move,  silence  prevailed  in 
the  place,  and  all  eyes  were  concentrated  upon  the  Gars.  A 
terrific  burst  of  fury  had  turned  the  flushed  and  passionate 
face  to  the  hue  of  wax.  The  young  chief  turned  towards  the 
guest  who  had  set  this  squib  in  motion,  and  said  in  a  deep 
smothered  voice — 

^^ Death  of  my  soul!  Count,  is  that  true?  "  he  demanded. 
**  On  my  honor,"  the  Count  answered,  bowing  gravely. 
The  Marquis  lowered  his  eyes  for  one  moment  \  but  he  raised 
them  immediately  to  turn  them  once  more  upon  Marie.  She 
was  watching  this  struggle  closely,  and  received  that  deadly 
glance. 

'*  I  would  give  my  life,"  he  muttered,  **  to  have  my  revenge 
at  this  moment." 

Mrae.  du  Gua  understood  these  words  from  the  mere  move- 
ment of  his  lips,  and  smiled  at  the  young  man,  as  one  smiles 
at  a  friend  who  is  about  to  be  delivered  from  his  despair.  The 
general  scorn  depicted  upon  all  faces  for  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
raised  the  indignation  of  the  two  Republicans  to  the  highest 
pitch.     They  rose  abruptly. 

"What  do  you  desire,  citizens,"  asked  Mme.  du  Gua. 
"Our  swords,  citoyenne  !  "  Gerard  replied,  ironically. 
"You  do  not  require  them  at  table,"   said  the  Marquis 
coolly. 

"  No,  but  we  are  going  to  play  at  a  game  that  you  under- 
stand," said  Gerard  as  he  reappeared.  "We  shall  see  each 
other  a  little  closer  here  than  we  did  at  La  Pelerine." 

The  company  remained  struck  dumb.  The  courtyard  rang 
at  that  moment  with  a  volley,  fired  all  at  once  and  in  a  way 
that  sounded  terribly  in  the  ears  of  the  two  officers.  They 
both  rushed  to  the  flight  of  steps,  and  saw  about  a  hundred 
Chouans  taking  aim  at  the  few  soldiers  who  had  survived  the 
first  round  of  firing,  and  shooting  them  down  like  hares. 
These  Bretons  were  coming  up  from  the  bank  where  Marche-a- 
Terre  had  stationed  them  at  the  risk  of  their  lives ;  for  during 


170  THE    CHOUANS. 

these  manoeuvres,  and  after  the  last  shots  were  fired,  a  sound 
was  heard  through  the  cries  of  dying  men.  Several  Chouans 
had  dropped  like  stones  into  the  depths  of  the  water  which 
eddied  round  about  them.  Pille-Miche  took  aim  at  Gerard  ; 
Marche-a-Terre  covered  Merle. 

"Captain,"  the  Marquis  said  coolly,  repeating  to  Merle 
the  words  that  the  Republican  had  spoken  about  him,  "you 
see  that  men  are  like  medlars ;  they  ripen  on  straw ^  He 
waved  his  hand  to  show  the  captain  the  whole  escort  of  Blues 
lying  on  the  blood-drenched  litter,  where  the  Chouans  were 
despatching  the  living  and  stripping  the  dead  with  incredible 
rapidity.  "  I  was  quite  right  when  I  told  you  that  your  men 
would  never  reach  La  Pdlerine,"  added  the  Marquis,  "  and  I 
think  that  your  skull  will  be  filled  with  lead  before  mine  is. 
What  do  you  say?  " 

Montauran  felt  a  hideous  craving  to  slake  his  anger.  His 
own  taunts  of  the  vanquished,  the  cold-blooded  cruelty, 
the  very  treachery  of  this  military  execution,  carried  out 
without  his  orders,  but  to  which  he  now  gave  his  countenance, 
satisfied  the  inmost  wishes  of  his  heart.  In  his  wrath  he 
would  fain  have  destroyed  all  France.  The  mangled  Blues 
and  their  surviving  officers,  all  of  them  guiltless  of  the  crime 
for  which  he  demanded  vengeance,  were  in  his  hands  like  so 
many  cards,  which  the  gambler  gnaws  to  pieces  in  his  despair. 

"I  would  rather  perish  in  the  same  way  than  gloat  over  it 
as  you  do,"  said  Gerard.  He  looked  at  the  naked  blood- 
stained corpses  of  his  men.  "  Murdered  !  "  he  cried,  "  and 
after  this  cowardly  fashion  !  " 

"  Like  Louis  XVL,  sir  !  "  the  Marquis  retorted  sharply. 

"  There  are  mysteries  in  the  trial  of  a  king  which  you,  sir, 
will  never  comprehend,"  said  Gerard  haughtily. 

"Bring  a  king  to  trial!  "  cried  the  Marquis,  now  beside 
himself. 

"  Wage  war  against  France  !  "  said  G6rard  contemptuously. 

**  Preposterous  folly  !  "  said  the  Marquis. 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCHi'S.  171 

"Parricide  I  "  the  Republican  retorted. 

"Regicide!" 

'*  What,  are  you  going  to  pick  a  quarrel  in  the  last  minute 
of  your  life?"  cried  Merle  gaily. 

**  True,"  said  Gerard  coldly.  Then  turning  to  the  Marquis, 
"Sir,"  he  said,  "  if  you  mean  to  put  us  to  death,  at  least  do 
us  the  favor  to  shoot  us  at  once." 

"  Just  like  you  !  "  the  captain  put  in ;  "  always  in  a  hurry 
to  be  done  with  a  thing.  But  when  one  sets  out  on  a  long 
journey,  my  friend,  and  there  is  to  be  no  breakfast  the  next 
morning,  one  has  supper  first." 

Proudly,  and  without  a  word,  Gerard  sprang  towards  the 
wall ;  Pille-Miche  leveled  his  musket  at  him,  and  glanced  at 
the  impassive  Marquis.  He  construed  the  silence  of  his  chief 
as  a  command,  and  the  adjutant-major  fell  like  a  tree.  Marche- 
a-Terre  rushed  up  to  share  this  fresh  spoil  with  Pille-Miche, 
and  they  wrangled  and  croaked  above  the  yet  warm  corpse  like 
two  famished  ravens. 

"If  you  like  to  finish  your  supper,  captain,  you  are  at 
liberty  to  come  with  me,"  said  the  Marquis,  who  wished  to 
keep  Merle  for  an  exchange  of  prisoner.  The  captain  went 
back  with  the  Marquis  mechanically,  murmuring  in  a  low  voice 
as  if  he  were  reproaching  himself,  "It  is  that  she-devil  of  a 

light-of-love  who  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  this What  will 

Hulotsay?" 

"Light-of-love  !  "  exclaimed  the  Marquis  in  a  smothered 
voice  ;  ''  then  there  is  no  doubt  about  what  she  really  is  !  " 

The  captain  had  apparently  dealt  a  deathblow  to  Montauran, 
who  followed  him  pale,  haggard,  exhausted,  and  with  tottering 
steps.  Another  scene  had  been  enacted  in  the  dining-room, 
which  in  the  absence  of  the  Marquis  had  taken  so  menacing  a 
turn,  that  Marie,  who  found  herself  deprived  of  her  protector, 
could  read  her  death-warrant  written  of  a  certainty  in  her 
rival's  eyes.  At  the  sound  of  the  volley  every  one  except 
Mrae.  du  Gua  had  risen  from  the  table.     "Take  your  seats 


172  THE   CHOUANS. 

again,"  said  she;  "It  is  nothing.  Our  people  are  killing 
the  Blues." 

When  she  saw  that  the  Marquis  was  well  out  of  the  room, 
she  rose.  "  Mademoiselle,  here,"  she  said,  with  the  calmness 
of  suppressed  rage,  "came  to  carry  off  the  Gars  from  us. 
She  came  here  to  try  to  give  him  up  to  the  Republic." 

**  I  could  have  given  him  up  a  score  of  times  since  this  morn- 
ing," replied  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  "and  I  have  saved  his  life." 

Mme.  du  Gua  sprang  at  her  rival  with  lightning  swiftness. 
In  a  transport  of  blind  fury,  she  rent  the  feeble  loops  of  twisted 
braid  that  fastened  the  spencer  of  the  girl  (who  stood  aghast 
at  this  unlooked-for  assault),  and  with  violent  hands  broke 
into  the  sanctuary  where  the  letter  lay  concealed,  tearing  her 
way  through  the  material,  the  embroideries,  corset,  and  shift. 
Then  she  took  advantage  of  this  search  to  assuage  her  personal 
jealousy,  and  managed  to  lacerate  her  rival's  throbbing  breast 
with  such  dexterity  and  fury,  that  her  nails  left  their  traces  in 
the  blood  that  they  had  drawn,  feeling  the  while  a  horrid 
pleasure  in  subjecting  her  victim  to  this  detestable  outrage. 
In  the  faint  resistance  which  Marie  offered  to  this  furious 
woman,  her  unfastened  hood  fell  back;  her  hair,  released 
from  restraint,  shook  itself  free  in  waving  curls ;  modesty  had 
set  her  whole  face  aflame ;  two  burning  tears  fell,  that  left 
their  gleaming  traces  on  her  cheeks  and  made  the  fire  in  her 
eyes  glow  brighter;  she  stood  quivering  at  the  indignity, 
shuddering  under  the  eyes  of  those  assembled.  Even  harsh 
judges  would  have  believed  in  her  innocence  when  they  saw 
what  she  suffered. 

Hatred  is  so  clumsy  a  calculator  that  Mme.  du  Gua  did  not 
perceive  that  no  one  gave  any  heed  whatever  to  her  when  she 
cried  triumphantly,  "  Look  here,  gentlemen  ;  have  I  traduced 
this  frightful  creature  now?  " 

"Not  so  very  frightful,"  said  the  stout  guest,  who  had 
brought  about  this  disaster.  "  I  have  a  prodigious  liking  for 
frights  of  this  description." 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCH&'S.  173 

"Here  is  an  order,"  said  the  merciless  Vendean  lady, 
"  signed  by  Laplace,  and  countersigned  by  Dubois."  Several 
raised  their  heads  at  the  two  names.  "  And  this  is  the  gist 
of  it,"  Mme.  du  Gua  continued — 

** '  Military  citizen-commandants  of  every  rank,  local  admin- 
istrators, procureur-syndics,  and  so  forth,  in  the  revolted  depart- 
ments, and  especially  those  situated  in  the  localities  frequented 
by  the  ci-devant  Marquis  de  Montauran,  chief  of  the  bandits, 
and  nicknamed  the  Gars,  are  to  give  every  help  and  assistance 
to  the  citoyenne  Marie  Vertieuil,  and  to  act  in  accordance  with 
the  orders  which  she  may  give  them,  each  one,  in  everything  that 
concerns  him,'  and  so  on,  and  so  on." 

"  Here  is  an  opera  girl  taking  an  illustrious  name  to  soil  it 
with  this  infamy,"  she  added. 

There  was  an  evident  stir  of  surprise  among  those  assem- 
bled. 

"The  contest  is  not  on  equal  terms  if  the  Republic  is 
going  to  employ  such  pretty  women  against  us!"  said  the 
Baron  du  Guenic  gaily. 

"And  women,  moreover,  who  have  nothing  to  lose," 
returned  Mme.  du  Gua. 

"Nothing!"  said  the  Chevalier  du  Vissard ;  "Mademoi- 
selle has  endowments  which  must  bring  her  in  a  pretty  large 
income ! ' ' 

"  The  Republic  must  be  of  a  very  frivolous  turn  to  send  us 
women  of  pleasure  as  envoys,"  cried  the  Abb6  Gudin. 

"  But,  unfortunately,  mademoiselle  seeks  those  pleasures 
which  kill,"  said  Mme.  du  Gua,  with  a  hideous  glee  in  her 
expression,  which  meant  that  the  end  to  this  jesting  was 
approaching. 

"How  is  it  then  that  you  are  living  still,  madarae?"  said 
Marie,  rising  to  her  feet  after  repairing  the  disorder  in  her 
dress.  The  cutting  epigram  silenced  the  company,  and  com- 
pelled their  respect  for  so  proud  a  victim.  Mme.  du  Gua 
noticed  a  smile  stealing  over  the  lips  of  the  chiefs ;  the  irony 


174  THE   CHOUANS. 

in  it  infuriated  her ;  she  neither  saw  the  entrance  of  the  Mar- 
quis nor  of  the  captain,  who  followed  him. 

"Pille-Miche,"  she  called  to  the  Chouan,  as  she  pointed 
out  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  "here  is  my  share  of  the  spoil;  I 
make  her  over  to  you ;  do  whatever  you  will  with  her." 

A  shudder  ran  through  the  whole  roomful  at  the  words 
"whatever  you  will,"  in  that  woman's  mouth;  for  behind 
the  Marquis  there  appeared  the  hideous  heads  of  Marche-a- 
Terre  and  Pille-Miche,  and  her  fate  was  evident  in  all  its 
horror. 

Francine  stood  as  if  thunderstruck,  with  clasped  hands 
and  eyes  brimming  with  tears.  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who 
recovered  all  her  self-possession  in  the  face  of  danger,  cast  a 
look  of  scorn  round  the  assembly,  snatched  her  letter  back 
from  Mme.  du  Gua,  and  held  up  her  head  ;  her  eyes  were  dry, 
but  there  was  lightning  in  them  as  she  hastened  towards  the 
door,  where  Merle's  sword  was  standing.  There  she  came 
upon  the  Marquis,  who  stood  apathetic  and  motionless  as  a 
statue.  There  was  no  trace  of  pity  for  her  in  his  face ;  every 
feature  was  rigid  and  immovable.  Cut  to  the  heart,  her  life 
grew  hateful  to  her.  This  man  then,  who  had  professed  so 
much  love  for  her,  had  listened  to  the  taunts  that  had  been 
heaped  upon  her ;  had  stood  there,  a  frozen -hearted  spectator 
of  the  outrage  she  had  just  suffered  when  the  beauties  that  a 
woman  reserves  for  love  had  been  subjected  to  the  general 
gaze.  Perhaps  she  might  have  forgiven  Montauran  for  the 
scorn  with  which  he  regarded  her,  but  it  made  her  indignant 
that  he  should  have  seen  her  in  an  ignominious  position.  The 
dazed  look  she  turned  upon  him  was  full  of  hate,  for  she  felt 
a  dreadful  craving  for  revenge  awaking  within  her.  She  saw 
death  now  close  upon  her,  and  felt  oppressed  by  her  own 
powerlessness. 

Something  surged  up  in  her  head  like  an  eddying  tide  of 
madness.  For  her,  with  the  boiling  blood  in  her  veins,  the 
whole  world  seemed  wrapped  in  flames.    Instead  of  killing  her- 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHJ^S.  176 

self  therefore,  she  snatched  up  the  sword,  brandished  it  above 
the  Marquis,  and  drove  it  at  him  up  to  the  hilt ;  but  as  the 
blade  had  slipped  between  his  side  and  his  arm,  the  Gars 
caught  Marie  by  the  wrist  and  dragged  her  from  the  room, 
aided  by  Pille-Miche,  who  had  flung  himself  upon  the  fren- 
zied girl  just  as  she  tried  to  kill  the  Marquis.  At  the  sight 
of  all  this  Francine  shrieked. 

"Pierre!  Pierre!  Pierre!"  she  cried  in  piteotis  tones, 
following  her  mistress  as  she  wailed. 

The  Marquis  left  the  stupefied  assembly  and  went  out,  shut- 
ting the  door  of  the  room  behind  him.  He  was  still  holding 
the  girl's  wrist  tightly  in  a  convulsive  clutch  when  he  reached 
the  flight  of  steps ;  and  though  Pille-Miche's  nervous  hands 
were  almost  crushing  the  bone  of  her  arm,  she  was  conscious 
of  nothing  but  the  burning  fingers  of  the  young  chief,  at 
whom  she  gazed  with  her  cold  eyes. 

"  You  are  hurting  me,  sir !  "  The  Marquis  looked  at  her 
for  an  instant,  and  this  was  all  the  answer  that  he  made. 

"  Have  you  something  to  avenge  as  foully  as  that  woman 
has  done?"  said  she.  Then  she  shivered  as  she  saw  the 
corpses  stretched  out  upon  the  litter,  and  she  cried,  "  The 

faith   of  a  gentleman Ha!    ha!    ha!"     Her   laughter 

was  fearful  to  hear.     "  A  glorious  day  !  "  she  added. 

"  Yes,"  he  echoed,  "  a  glorious  day,  and  without  a 
morrow." 

He  dropped  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  hand  when  he  had  given 
one  long,  last  look  at  the  magnificent  creature  whom  he  found 
it  all  but  impossible  to  renounce.  Neither  of  these  two  highly 
wrought  spirits  would  give  way.  Perhaps  the  Marquis  was 
waiting  for  a  tear,  but  the  girl's  eyes  were  dry  and  proud.  He 
turned  away  abruptly,  and  left  Pille-Miche  his  victim. 

**  God  will  hear  me.  Marquis;  I  shall  pray  to  Him  to  give 
you  a  glorious  day  without  a  morrow  !  " 

Pille-Miche,  rather  at  a  loss  with  so  splendid  a  prey,  drew 
her  along  with  a   mixture  of  respect  and  mockery  in  his 


176  THE   CHOUANS. 

gentleness.  The  Marquis  heaved  a  sigh,  and  returned  to  tlie 
dining-room,  turning  upon  his  guests  a  face  like  that  of  a 
corpse  with  the  eyes  as  yet  unclosd. 

Captain  Merle's  presence  was  inexplicable  for  every  actor  in 
this  tragedy  ;  every  one  looked  at  him  questioningly  and  in 
surprise.  Merle  perceived  their  astonishment,  and,  smiling 
sadly,  he  spoke,  still  in  character,  to  the  Chouans. 

*•  I  do  not  believe,  gentlemen,  that  you  can  refuse  a  glass 
of  wine  to  a  man  who  is  about  to  go  the  last  stage  of  his 
journey." 

It  was  just  as  the  assemblage  had  been  restored  to  equa- 
nimity by  these  words,  uttered  with  a  Gallic  lightheartedness 
which  was  bound  to  find  favor  with  Vendeans,  that  Montau- 
ran  reappeared  ;  his  white  face  and  the  fixed  look  in  his  eyes 
struck  a  chill  through  every  guest. 

"You  shall  see,"  said  the  captain,  "  that  dead  men  will 
set  the  living  going  !  " 

"Ah  !  "  said  the  Marquis,  with  the  involuntary  start  of  a 
man  who  wakes  from  sleep;  "there  you  are,  my  dear 
Council-of-War  !  "  He  reached  for  a  bottle  of  vin  de  Grave 
as  if  to  fill  the  other's  glass. 

"  Thanks,  citizen-marquis  ;  but,  you  see,  it  might  go  to  my 
head." 

At  this  witticism,  Mme.  du  Gua  spoke  smilingly  to  the 
guests. 

"  Come,"  she  said  ;  "let  us  spare  him  the  dessert." 

"You  are  very  cruel,  madame,  in  your  vengeance,"  the 
captain  answered.  "  You  forget  that  murdered  friend  of 
mine,  who  is  waiting  for  me ;  and  I  always  keep  my  appoint- 
ments. ' ' 

"  Captain,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  you  are  at  liberty  !  Stay," 
and  he  threw  his  glove  towards  him  ;  "  here  is  your  passport. 
The  "Chasseurs  du  Roi "  know  that  they  must  not  kill  all 
the  game  at  once." 

"Life?"  said  Merle,  "very  well  so  be  it  then;  but  you 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCHA'S.  177 

are  making  a  blunder.  You  shall  be  closely  pressed,  I  will 
engage  for  it,  and  I  shall  give  you  no  quarter.  You  may  be 
very  clever,  but  you  are  not  worth  as  much  as  Gerard.  Still, 
although  your  head  will  never  make  up  to  me  for  his,  have  it 
I  must  and  will." 

"  He  was  in  such  a  great  hurry  !  "  retorted  the  Marquis. 

"Good-bye.  Perhaps  I  could  drink  with  my  own  execu- 
tioners, but  I  cannot  stay  here  with  my  friend's  murderers," 
said  the  captain,  and  he  vanished,  leaving  the  guests  to  their 
amazement. 

"  Now,  then,  gentlemen,  what  have  you  to  say  about  the 
sheriffs,  apothecaries,  and  attorneys  who  rule  the  Republic?" 
asked  the  Marquis  coolly. 

"God's  death.  Marquis!  "  replied  the  Comte  de  Bauvan; 
"  they  are  very  ill-bred,  at  all  events.  That  fellow  has  affronted 
us,  it  seems  to  me." 

There  had  been  a  secret  motive  for  the  captain's  prompt 
retreat.  This  girl,  who  had  met  with  such  scorn  and  humilia- 
tion, and  who  perhaps  succumbed  at  that  very  moment,  had, 
during  the  past  scene,  shown  him  beauties  so'difficult  to  forget 
that  as  he  went  out  he  said  to  himself,  "  If  she  does  belong 
to  that  class,  she  is  no  ordinary  girl  at  any  rate,  and  she  shall 
assuredly  be  my  wife " 

He  despaired  so  little  of  rescuing  her  from  the  clutches  of 
these  savages  that  his  first  thought  had  been  how  he  would 
take  her  under  his  protection  in  the  future,  having  saved  her 
life.  Unfortunately,  when  the  captain  reached  the  flight  of 
steps,  he  found  the  courtyard  deserted.  He  looked  about  him 
and  gave  ear  to  the  silence,  but  heard  nothing  except  the  noisy 
far-off  laughter  of  the  Chouans  as  they  drank  and  divided  the 
booty  in  the  gardens.  He  ventured  to  turn  the  corner  of 
the  fatal  wing  of  the  building,  w^here  his  men  had  been  shot 
down  ;  and,  by  the  feeble  light  of  one  or  two  candles,  he  dis- 
tinguished from  his  angle  the  "  Chasseurs  du  Roi  "  broken  up 
into  different  groups.  Neither  Pille-Miche,  nor  Marche-i- 
12 


178  TfTE   CHOUANS. 

Terre,  nor  the  girl  herself  was  there ;  but  he  suddenly  felt  a 
pull  at  the  skirt  of  his  uniform,  and,  turning  round,  he  saw 
Francine  on  her  knees. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know Pierre  drove  me  away,  and  ordered 

me  not  to  stir." 

'*  Which  way  did  they  go?  " 

"That  way,"  she  answered,  pointing  to  the  causeway. 
Then,  in  the  moonlight,  the  captain  and  Francine  discerned 
certain  shadows  falling  on  the  waters  of  the  lake  ;  the  slender 
feminine  form  that  they  both  recognized,  indistinct  as  it  was, 
made  their  hearts  beat. 

"  Oh,  it  is  she  !"  said  the  Breton  maid.  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
was  apparently  standing  there  resignedly,  with  several  figures 
about  her  whose  actions  indicated  a  discussion. 

**  There  are  several  of  them  !  "  the  captain  exclaimed.  **  It 
is  all  one ;  come  along." 

"You  will  lose  your  life  to  no  purpose,"  said  Francine. 

**  I  have  lost  it  once  already  to-day,"  he  answered  gaily. 
Both  of  them  made  their  way  towards  the  gloomy  gateway, 
on  the  other  side  of  which  this  scene  was  taking  place.  But 
Francine  stopped  half-way. 

"No,"  she  called  softly;  "  I  will  go  no  further!  Pierre 
told  me  not  to  meddle.  I  know  him.  We  shall  spoil  every- 
thing. Do  anything  you  please.  Monsieur  V  Officier,  but  keep 
away.     If  Pierre  were  to  see  you  with  me  he  would  kill  you." 

Pille-Miche  appeared  without  the  gate ;  he  called  to  the 
postilion  who  had  kept  in  the  stable,  saw  the  captain,  and 
shouted,  as  he  leveled  his  musket  at  him,  "Saint  Anne  of 
Aura)' !  The  rector  at  Antrain  was  quite  right  when  he  told  us 
tb't  the  Blues  had  signed  a  contract  with  the  devil.  Stop  a 
bit ;   I  will  show  you  how  to  come  to  life  again  !  " 

"Hollo,  there!  My  life  has  been  granted  me,"  shouted 
Merle,  seeing  himself  threatened. 

"  Here  is  your  chiefs  glove  !  " 


A  NOTION    OF   FOVCH&S.  179 

**  Yes,"  answered  the  Chouan,  "just  like  a  ghost,  that !    I, 

on   the  other  hand,  do  not  grant  you  your  life. Ave 

Maria /^^  and  he  fired.  The  shot  penetrated  the  captain's 
head,  he  dropped  ;  and  as  Francine  came  up  to  him  she 
distinctly  heard  Merle  uttering  these  words,  "  I  would  rather 
stop  here  with  them  than  go  back  without  them." 

The  Chouan  rushed  upon  the  Blue  to  strip  the  body  with 
the  remark,  "  There  is  one  good  thing  about  these  men  who 
came  back,  their  clothes  come  to  life  again  along  with  them  ;  " 
but  when  he  saw  in  the  captain's  hand  the  glove  of  the  Gars 
that  had  been  held  up  for  him,  he  stood  in  dismay  at  sight  of 
that  sacred  token.  **  I  would  not  be  in  the  skin  of  my 
mother's  son ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  he  vanished  with  the 
swiftness  of  a  bird. 

In  order  to  understand  this  unexpected  meeting,  so  fatal  for 
the  captain,  it  is  necessary  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  after  the  Marquis,  overcome  with  his  rage  and 
despair,  had  gone  away  and  abandoned  her  to  Pille-Miche. 
Then  Francine  had  seized  Marche-a-Terre's  arm  in  a  spasm  of 
fear,  and  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears  had  reminded  him  of  the 
promise  he  had  made  to  her.  At  the  distance  of  a  few  paces 
Pille-Miche  was  dragging  off  his  victim,  much  as  he  might 
have  trailed  some  awkward  burden  after  him,  Marie,  with 
loosened  hair  and  bowed  head,  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  lake, 
but  she  was  held  back  by  an  iron  grip,  and  compelled  to  fol- 
low the  Chouan  with  lagging  steps ;  now  and  again  he  turned 
to  give  her  a  look  or  to  hasten  her  progress,  and  each  time  he 
did  so  a  jovial  thought  was  expressed  on  his  face  by  a  fright- 
ful smile. 

"Isn't  she  grand! "  he  cried  with  uncouth  em- 
phasis. Francine,  hearing  these  words,  recovered  her  power 
of  speech. 

"  Pierre !  " 

"Well?" 

"  Is  he  going  to  kill  mademoiselle?  " 


180  THE   CHOUANS. 

"  Not  just  at  once,"  answered  Marche-a-Terre. 

'*  But  she  will  resist ;  and  if  she  dies,  I  shall  die  too  !  " 

"Ah,    well;    you   are   too   fond   of   her; so    let   her 

die!  "  said  Marche-a-Terre. 

**  If  we  two  are  rich  and  happy,  we  owe  our  good  fortune 
to  her ;  but,  anyhow,  have  you  not  promised  me  to  save  her 
from  all  misfortune?  " 

"  I  will  try  ;  but  stop  there,  and  dont't  stir  away." 

Marche-a-Terre's  arm  was  instantly  released,  and  Francine, 
consumed  by  the  most  terrible  anxiety,  waited  in  the  court- 
yard. Marche-a-Terre  came  up  with  his  companion  just  as 
the  latter  had  entered  the  barn  and  forced  his  victim  to  get 
into  the  coach.  Pille-Miche  demanded  his  fellow's  aid  to 
pull  the  coach  out. 

"What  do  you  want  with  all  this?"  inquired  Marche-a- 
Terre. 

"  Well,  the  Grande-Garce  has  given  me  the  woman,  so  all 
she  has  belongs  to  me." 

"  As  for  the  coach,  well  and  good,  you  will  make  some 
money  out  of  it ;  but  how  about  the  woman  ?  She  will  fly  at 
your  face  like  a  cat !  " 

Pille-Miche  burst  into  a  noisy  laugh,  and  replied,  "Why, 
I  shall  take  her  home  along  with  me,  and  I  shall  tie  her  up." 

"All  right;  let  us  put  the  horses  in,"  said  Marche-a-Terre. 

A  moment  later  Marche-a-Terre,  who  had  left  his  com- 
panion to  keep  watch  over  his  victim,  brought  the  carriage  out 
upon  the  causeway  outside  the  gate.  Pille-Miche  got  in  be- 
side Mile,  de  Verneuil,  without  noticing  the  start  she  made  to 
fling  herself  into  the  water. 

"Hello!  Pille-Miche!"  shouted  Marche-a-Terre. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  will  buy  your  share  of  the  plunder  of  you." 

"Are  you  joking?"  asked  the  Chouan,  pulling  his  prisoner 
by  the  skirt  as  a  butcher  might  seize  a  calf  that  was  escaping 
him. 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCH&S.  181 

"Let  me  have  a  look  at  her,  and  I'll  make  you  an  oflFer." 

The  unhappy  girl  was  obliged  to  descend,  and  to  stand 
there  between  the  two  Chouans,  who  each  held  one  of  her 
hands  in  his  grasp,  and  gazed  at  her  as  the  two  elders  must 
have  stared  at  the  bathing  Susannah,  Marche-a-Terre  heaved 
a  sigh, 

"  Will  you  take  thirty  good  livres  a  year?  " 

"Do  you  really  mean  it?" 

"Do  you  take  it?"  asked  Marche-a-Terre,  stretching  out 
his  hand. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  bargain,  for  I  can  have  Breton  girls  with  that, 
and  grand  ones  too  !  But  how  about  the  carriage  ;  who  is  to 
have  that?"  said  Pille-Miche,  bethinking  himself, 

"  That  is  mine  !  "  cried  Marche-a-Terre,  with  a  ring  in  his 
terrible  voice  which  indicated  a  kind  of  ascendancy  over  all 
his  companions  due  to  the  savagery  of  his  nature, 

"  But  suppose  there  should  be  money  in  the  carriage?" 

"  Haven't  you  struck  a  bargain  ?  " 

"  Yes;  I  closed  with  you." 

"  All  right ;  go  and  look  up  the  postilion,  who  is  fixed  up 
in  the  stable," 

"  But  if  there  was  any  gold  in  it " 

"  Is  there  any  in  there  ?  "  Marche-a-Terre  asked  sharply  of 
Marie  while  he  shook  her  by  the  arm. 

"  I  have  a  hundred  crowns,"  replied  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  At 
these  words  the  two  Chouans  looked  at  each  other. 

"Well,  my  good  friend,  do  not  let  us  fall  out  about  a 
Republican  girl,"  said  Pille-Miche  in  Marcke-a-Terre's  ear ; 
"  shall  we  chuck  her  into  the  pond  with  a  stone  round  her 
neck,  and  divide  the  hundred  crowns  between  us  ?  " 

"I  will  give  you  the  hundred  crowns  out  of  ray  share  of 
d'Orgemont's  ransom  !  "  cried  Marche-a-Terre,  suppressing 
the  groan  occasioned  by  this  sacrifice, 

Pille-Miche  gave  a  hoarse  kind  of  cry,  and  went  to  find  the 
postilion.     His  glee  brought  bad  luck  to  the  captain  whom  he 


182  THE   CHOUANS. 

met.  When  he  heard  the  report  of  the  gun,  Marche-a-Terre 
hurried  to  the  spot,  where  Francine,  still  in  terror,  was  pray- 
ing with  clasped  hands  upon  her  knees  beside  the  poor  cap- 
tain, so  vivid  had  been  the  effect  upon  her  of  the  spectacle 
of  the  murder. 

**  Run  to  your  mistress,"  said  the  Chouan  shortly;  "she 
is  safe."  He  himself  ran  in  search  of  the  postilion,  and 
returned  with  the  speed  of  lightning.  As  he  passed  by 
Merle's  body  for  the  second  time,  he  saw  the  glove  of  the 
Gars,  which  the  dead  hand  was  still  clutching  convulsively. 

"Oh,  ho!"  cried  he;  "Pille-Miche  has  tried  foul  play 
here !  It  is  not  so  sure  that  he  will  live  to  draw  that  income 
of  his " 

He  tore  away  the  glove,  and  said  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who 
was  already  in  her  place  in  the  coach  with  Francine  beside 
her,  **  Here,  take  this  glove.  If  you  are  attacked  on  the 
road  say,  '  Oh  !  the  Gars  ! '  and  show  this  passport  here,  and 
no  harm  can  come  to  you.  Francine,"  he  said,  turning 
towards  her  and  seizing  her  hand,  "  we  are  quits  now  with 
the  woman  there  ;  the  devil  take  her  ;  come  with  me." 

'*  Would  you  have  me  leave  her  just  now,  at  this  moment  ?  " 
Francine  answered  in  a  melancholy  voice.  Marche-a-Terre 
first  scratched  his  ear  and  then  his  forehead.  Then  he  raised 
his  head  and  showed  his  eyes,  with  the  fierce  expression  that 
made  them  formidable. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  he.  "  For  a  week  I  will  leave  you 
with  her;  but  when  once  it  is  over,  if  you  do  not  come  to 

me "     He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  he  struck  the 

muzzle  of  his  rifle  a  heavy  blow  with  the  flat  of  his  hand, 
made  a  feint  of  leveling  it  at  her,  and  went  without  waiting 
for  a  response. 

As  soon  as  the  Chouan  had  gone,  a  stifled  voice  that 
seemed  to  rise  from  the  surface  of  the  pond  cried,  "  Madame  ! 
Madame  ! " 

**  The  postilion  and  ihe  two  women  shuddered  with  horror, 


/ 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCHi^S.  183 

for  several  dead  bodies  had  drifted  thither.  A  Blue  hiding 
behind  a  tree  showed  himself.  "  Let  me  get  up  on  your  box, 
or  I  am  a  dead  man  !  That  damned  glass  of  cider  that  Clef- 
des-Coeurs  would  drink  has  cost  more  than  a  pint  of  blood  ! 
If  he  had  followed  my  example,  and  made  his  rounds,  our 
poor  comrades  would  not  be  floating  about  there,  like  a  fleet." 

While  these  events  were  taking  place  without  the  house,  the 
chiefs  sent  by  the  Vendeans  were  conferring  with  the  Chouans, 
glass  in  hand,  while  the  Marquis  of  Montauran  presided. 
Ample  potations  of  Bordeaux  wine  gave  warmth  to  the  debate, 
which  grew  momentous  and  serious  as  the  banquet  drew  to  a 
close.  During  the  dessert,  when  the  lines  of  concerted 
military  action  had  been  laid  down,  and  the  Royalists  drank 
to  the  health  of  the  Bourbons,  the  report  of  Pille-Miche's  gim 
sounded  like  an  echo  of  the  ill-omened  war  which  these  gay 
and  noble  conspirators  were  fain  to  wage  against  the  Republic. 
Mme.  du  Gua  shook  with  the  pleasurable  agitation  which  she 
felt  at  being  rid  of  her  rival,  and  at  this  the  guests  all  looked  at 
one  another,  and  the  Marquis  rose  from  the  table  and  went  out. 

"After  all,  he  was  in  love  with  her,"  said  Mme.  du  Gua 
satirically;  -'go  and  keep  him  company,  M.  de  Fontaine; 
he  will  grow  as  tiresome  as  the  flies  if  he  gets  into  the  blues." 

She  went  to  the  window  which  looked  out  upon  the  court- 
yard, to  try  to  see  Marie's  dead  body.  Thence,  by  the  last 
light  of  the  setting  moon,  she  could  make  out  the  coach  which 
was  ascending  the  avenue  between  the  apple  trees  with  in- 
credible speed.  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  veil  was  fluttering  in  the 
breeze  out  of  the  coach-window.  Mme.  du  Gua  left  the  com- 
pany, enraged  at  what  she  saw. 

The  Marquis  was  lounging  on  the  flight  of  steps,  deep  in 
gloomy  thoughts,  as  he  watched  about  a  hundred  and  fifty 
Chouans  who  had  returned  from  the  gardens,  whither  they 
had  gone  to  divide  their  booty,  and  who  were  now  about  to 
finish  the  cider  and  the  bread  which  had  been  promised  to  the 
Blues.     These  soldiers  (new  pattern)  upon  whom  the  hopes 


184  THE   CHOUANS. 

of  the  Monarchy  were  founded  were  drinking  together  in 
little  knots  ;  while  seven  or  eight  of  their  number  were  amus- 
ing themselves  on  the  embankment  opposite  to  the  flight  of 
steps,  by  tying  stones  to  the  bodies  of  the  Blues  and  flinging 
them  into  the  water.  This  spectacle,  taken  in  connection 
with  the  various  pictures  presented  by  the  eccentric  costumes 
and  the  wild  faces  of  the  callous  and  uncivilized  gars,  was  so 
extraordinary  and  so  novel  to  M.  de  Fontaine  (who  had 
observed  a  certain  appearance  of  seemliness  and  discipline 
among  the  Vendean  troops),  that  he  seized  this  opportunity 
to  say  to  the  Marquis  of  Montauran,  "What  can  you  hope  to 
do  with  such  brutes  as  that  ?  " 

"  No  great  things,  you  mean,  my  dear  Count !  "  replied  the 
Gars. 

"Will  they  ever  be  able  to  execute  manoeuvres  when  they 
are  confronted  with  the  Republicans?" 

"Never." 

"  Will  they  ever  be  able  to  do  so  much  as  to  understand 
your  orders  and  carry  them  out  ?  " 

"Never." 

"Then  what  use  will  they  be  to  you?" 

"  They  will  enable  me  to  plunge  my  sword  into  the  heart 
of  the  Republic,"  thundered  the  Marquis;  "to  make  Fou- 
g^res  mine  in  three  days,   and  the  length  and  breadth  of 

Brittany  in  ten  ! Come,  sir,"  he  continued  in  a  milder 

voice,  "set  out  for  la  Vendee  ;  let  Autichamp,  Suzannet,  and 
lie  Abb6  Bernier  only  go  ahead  as  quickly  as  I  shall ;  let 
them  not  open  negotiations  with  the  First  Consul  (as  they 
once  led  me  to  fear)  " — here  he  gave  the  Vendean 's  hand  a 
mighty  grasp — "and  we  shall  be  within  thirty  leagues  of 
Paris  in  three  weeks." 

"But  the  Republic  is  sending  sixty  thousand  men  and 
General  Brune  against  us  !  " 

"  Sixty  thousand  men  !  Really?  "  cried  the  Marquis,  with 
a  satirical  smile.     "  And  with  what  men  will  Bonaparte  carry 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCH&S.  186 

on  his  Italian  campaign  ?  And  as  for  General  Brune,  he  will 
not  come  either.  Bonaparte  has  dispatched  him  against  the 
English  in  Holland,  and  General  Hedouville,  the  friend  of 
our  friend  Barras,  will  take  his  place  out  here.  Now  do  you 
understand  me  ?  " 

When  he  heard  him  talk  in  this  way,  M.  de  Fontaine  looked 
at  the  Marquis  with  an  astute  and  arch  expression  which  seemed 
to  convey  a  reproach  to  the  speaker  for  not  fully  understand- 
ing the  drift  of  the  mysterious  words  which  he  had  just  uttered. 
Both  gentlemen  understood  each  other  perfectly  well  from  that 
moment,  yet  the  young  chief  replied  with  an  indefinable  smile 
to  the  unspoken  thought  in  the  eyes  of  both. 

"  M.  de  Fontaine,  do  you  know  my  arms?  My  device  is — 
'Perseverer  jusqu'  a  lamortJ'  " 

The  Comte  de  Fontaine  grasped  Montauran's  hand  and 
pressed  it  as  he  said,  "  I  was  left  for  dead  on  the  field  at 
Quatre-Chemins,  so  you  will  have  no  rhisgivings  about  me ; 
but  believe  my  experience — times  are  changed." 

"  Oh!  yes,"  said  La  Billardidre,  who  joined  them.  You 
are  young.  Marquis.  Just  listen  to  me.  Your  estates  have 
not  all  been  sold ' ' 

"  Ah  !  can  you  imagine  devotion  without  a  sacrifice  !  "  said 
Montauran. 

"  Do  y«u  really  know  the  King? "  said  La  Billardi^re. 

"Yes." 

"  Then  I  admire  you. ' ' 

"The  King,"  said  the  young  chief,  "is  the  priest,  and  I 
am  fighting  for  the  faith." 

And  so  they  separated.  The  Vendean,  convinced  of  the 
necessity  of  a  resignation  to  the  course  of  events,  and  of 
keeping  his  faith  in  his  own  heart ;  La  Billardiere  to  go  back 
to  England  again ;  and  Montauran  to  fight  desperately,  and 
to  force  the  Vendeans  to  co-operate  with  him  by  means  of  the 
victories  of  which  he  dreamed. 

These  events  had  stirred  up  so  many  emotions  in  the  soul 


186  THE   CHOUANS. 

of  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  that  she  lay  back  in  the  carriage  utterly 
prostrated  and  as  if  dead,  when  she  had  given  the  order  to 
proceed  to  Fougeres.  Francine  was  silent,  following  the  ex- 
ample of  her  mistress.  The  postilion,  who  was  in  terror  of 
some  fresh  misadventure,  made  haste  to  reach  the  high  road, 
and  very  soon  reached  the  top  of  La  Pelerine. 

In  the  dense,  white  morning  mists,  Marie  de  Verneuil  made 
her  way  across  the  wide  and  beautiful  valley  of  the  CouSsnon, 
where  this  story  began.  From  the  summit  of  La  Pelerine  she 
could  hardly  see  the  schistous  rock  upon  which  the  town  of 
Fougdres  is  built,  and  from  which  the  three  travelers  were  still 
some  two  leagues  distant.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  felt  chilled 
through  with  the  cold,  and  thought  of  the  poor  infantryman 
perched  up  behind  the  carriage,  insisting  in  spite  of  his  re- 
fusals that  he  should  come  in  and  sit  beside  Francine.  The 
sight  of  Fougeres  drew  her  for  a  moment  from  her  reverie. 
Moreover,  as  the  guard  stationed  at  the  St.  Leonard  gate 
refused  admittance  into  the  town  to  strangers,  she  was  com- 
pelled to  produce  her  credentials.  Then  she  found  herself 
protected  at  last  from  all  hostile  attempts  as  she  came  into 
this  place,  with  its  own  townspeople  for  its  sole  defenders  at 
the  moment.  The  postilion  could  find  no  better  sheltering 
roof  for  her  than  at  the  Post  inn. 

"  Madame,"  said  the  Blue,  whom  she  had  rescued,  "  if  you 
should  ever  require  to  administer  a  sabre  cut  to  any  individual, 
my  life  is  at  your  service.  I  am  good  at  that.  My  name  is 
Jean  Falcon  ;  I  am  called  Beau-Pied  ;  and  I  am  a  sergeant  in 
the  first  company  of  Hulot's  lads  in  the  seventy-second  demi- 
brigade,  which  they  call  the  Mayengaise.  Excuse  my  vanity 
and  presumption ;  but  I  can  do  no  more  than  offer  you  the 
life  of  a  sergeant,  because  for  the  time  being  I  have  nothing 
else  to  put  at  your  disposal."  He  turned  on  his  heel  and 
went  away  whistling. 

"The  lower  one  looks  in  the  ranks  of  society,"  said  Marie 
with  bitterness,  "  the  more  one  finds  generosity  of  feeling 


A   NOTION  OF  FOUCH^'S.  VSI 

without  any  parade  of  it.    A  marquis  gives  me  up  to  death  in 

return  for  life,  while  a  sergeant .     But  there,  let  that 

be!" 

When  the  beautiful  Parisian  lay  in  a  well-warmed  bed,  her 
faithful  Francine  hung  about,  waiting  in  vain  for  the  aflfec- 
tionate  word  that  she  was  accustomed  to  hear ;  but  her  mis- 
tress saw  her  still  standing  there  uneasily,  and  said  with  every 
mark  of  sadness — 

"  They  call  this  a  day,  Francine,  but  I  am  ten  years  older 
for  it." 

The  next  morning,  as  she  was  getting  up,  Corentin  pre- 
sented himself  to  call  upon  Marie,  who  gave  him  admittance. 

"  Francine,"  she  remarked,  "  my  misfortune  must  be  great 
indeed  when  I  can  tolerate  the  sight  of  Corentin." 

But  for  all  that,  when  she  saw  him  again,  she  instinctively 
felt  for  the  thousandth  time  towards  the  man  a  repugnance 
that  an  acquaintance  of  two  years'  standing  had  mitigated  no 
whit. 

"Well,"  said  he,  smiling;  "  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
succeed.     Was  it  not  he  then  whom  you  got  hold  of  ?  " 

"  Corentin,"  she  answered  slowly,  with  a  sorrowful  expres- 
sion, "do  not  mention  that  affair  to  me  unless  I  myself  speak 
to  you  of  it." 

He  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  room,  attempting  to  divine  the 
secret  thoughts  of  this  strange  girl,  in  whose  glance  there 
was  a  something  which  at  times  had  power  enough  to  discon- 
cert the  cleverest  men. 

"I  foresaw  this  check,"  he  began,  after  a  moment's  pause. 
"I  have  been  making  inquiries,  in  case  you  might  care  to 
make  this  town  your  headquarters.  We  are  in  the  very  heart 
and  centre  of  Chouannerie.  Will  you  stay  here  ?  "  The  nod 
vouchsafed  to  him  by  way  of  a  reply  gave  rise  to  conjec- 
tures as  to  yesterday's  events  on  Corentin's  part,  which 
were  partially  correct.  "I  have  taken  a  house  for  you,"  he 
went  on  ;  "  one  confiscated  by  the  nation,  and  as  yet  unsold. 


188  THE   CHOUANS. 

They  are  not  very  advanced  in  their  notions  hereabouts. 
Nobody  has  dared  to  buy  the  place,  because  the  emigrant  to 
whom  it  belonged  is  thought  to  be  an  awkward  customer. 
It  is  close  to  St.  Leonard's  church,  and,  upon  my  honor, 
one  enjoys  a  charming  view  from  the  windows.  Something 
can  be  made  of  the  hole ;  it  is  habitable ;  will  you  go 
into  it?" 

"  Yes,  at  once,"  she  exclaimed. 

**  But  you  must  let  me  have  a  few  hours  in  which  to  get  it 
cleaned  and  set  to  rights,  so  that  you  may  find  everything 
to  your  mind." 

**  What  does  it  matter?"  she  said.  "I  should  make  no 
difficulty  about  living  in  a  convent  or  in  a  jail.  However, 
you  can  arrange  things  so  that  I  can  be  left  to  rest  in 
absolute  solitude  this  evening.  There,  you  can  leave  me  ! 
Your  presence  is  intolerable.  I  wish  to  be  left  alone  with 
Francine.  I  am  on  better  terms  with  her  perhaps  than  with 
myself There,  good-bye;  go  away!  " 

It  was  evident  from  the  words  thus  volubly  uttered,  and 
imbued  by  turns  with  coquetry,  wilfulness,  and  passion,  that 
her  serenity  was  completely  restored.  Slumber  no  doubt  had 
gradually  dispelled  the  impressions  of  the  previous  day,  and 
reflection  had  brought  her  counsels  of  revenge.  If  dark 
thoughts  at  times  were  depicted  upon  her  face,  they  seemed 
to  bear  witness  to  the  power  possessed  by  some  women  of 
burying  their  most  enthusiastic  feelings  in  the  depths  of  their 
souls,  and  of  that  capacity  for  dissimulation  which  enables 
them  to  smile  graciously  while  they  scheme  out  the  ruin  of 
their  victim. 

She  sat  alone,  absorbed  in  plans  for  getting  the  Marquis 
into  her  hands  alive.  For  the  first  time  she  had  known  a  life 
in  accordance  with  her  inmost  wishes ;  but  of  that  life  noth- 
ing remained  to  her  now  but  the  longing  for  revenge — a 
revenge  that  should  be  absolute  and  unending.  This  was 
her   sole    thought,    her    one   passionate   desire.     Francine's 


A   NOTION    OF  FOUCHtS.  189 

words  and  little  services  drew  no  response  from  Marie,  who 
seemed  to  be  sleeping  with  her  eyes  open ;  the  livelong  day 
went  by,  and  there  was  no  outward  sign  or  movement  of  the 
life  which  is  the  expression  of  our  thoughts.  She  lay  reclined 
on  a  kind  of  ottoman  which  she  had  made  with  chairs  and 
pillows,  and  not  till  evening  came  did  she  languidly  let  fall 
these  words  and  no  more,  with  her  eyes  upon  Francine — 
**  Yesterday,  my  child,  I  saw  clearly  how  one  can  live  for 
love's  sole  sake  ;  to-day  I  have  come  to  understand  how  one 
can  die  to  have  revenge.  Yes !  I  would  give  my  life  to  find 
him  out,  wherever  he  may  be,  to  come  across  him  once  more, 

to  entangle  him,  and  to  have  him  in  my  power. But  if, 

after  a  few  days,  I  do  not  find  this  man  who  has  slighted  me, 
lying  humble  and  submissive  at  my  feet ;  if  I  do  not  reduce 
him  to  an  abject  servitude,  why,  then,  I  shall  be  beneath  con- 
tempt, and  I  shall  be  no  more  a  woman — I  shall  be  no  longer 
myself!  " 

The  house  which  Corentin  had  proposed  to  Mile,  de  Ver- 
neuil  was  well  adapted  to  gratify  her  innate  love  of  refinement 
and  luxury  in  her  surroundings.  He  himself  appeared  to  have 
accumulated  there  everything  which  in  his  opinion  ought  to 
please  her,  with  a  lover's  eagerness,  or,  more  properly  speaking, 
with  the  anxious  servility  of  a  man  in  power  seeking  to  attach  to 
his  own  interest  some  inferior  who  is  necessary  to  him.  He  came 
to  Mile,  de  Verneuil  the  next  day  to  suggest  a  removal  to  this 
improvised  dwelling-place.  She  scarcely  did  more  than  trans- 
fer herself  from  her  rickety  ottoman  to  a  venerable  sofa  which 
Corentin  had  managed  to  find  for  her;  but  the  fanciful  Parisian 
entered  into  residence  as  if  the  house  had  belonged  to  her. 
She  treated  everything  she  saw  with  supreme  indifference,  and 
developed  a  sudden  affinity  with  the  oddments,  which  by 
degrees  she  appropriated  to  her  own  use,  as  if  they  had  long 
been  familiar  to  her.  These  are  trifling  details,  but  not 
without  significance  in  the  portraiture  of  an  unusual  character. 
She  might  have  become  well  acquainted  with  this  dwelling  in 


190  THE   CHOUANS. 

her  dreams  before  ever  she  saw  the  place ;  and  here  she  lived 
upon  the  hatred  within  her,  just  as  she  would  have  existed 
upon  love. 

"At  any  rate,"  she  said  to  herself,"  I  have  not  inspired  in 
him  that  insulting  kind  of  pity  which  is  death  ;  I  do  not  owe  my 
life  to  him.  Oh,  my  first  and  last  and  only  love  !  What  an 
outcome  of  it  all !  " 

She  made  a  spring  at  the  startled  Francine.  '  *  Do  you  love 
too  ?  Oh,  yes !  I  remember,  you  are  in  love !  How  very 
fortunate  I  am  to  have  a  woman  beside  me  who  can  under- 
stand !  Well,  my  poor  Francine,  do  not  men  seem  to  you  to 
be  horrible  creatures  ?     Why,  he  told  me  that  he  loved  me  ! 

And  he  could  not   stand  the  slightest  test Yet  if  the 

whole  world  had  spurned  him,  he  should  have  found  a  refuge 
in  my  heart ;  if  the  whole  universe  had  been  against  him,  I 
would  have  stood  by  him.  Once,  I  used  to  watch  a  world 
filled  with  beings  who  came  and  went ;  they  were  only  indif- 
ferent things  for  me,  but  that  world  of  mine  was  only  melan- 
choly, not  dreadful ;  and  now,  what  is  it  all  without  him  ? 
He  will  go  on  living  though  I  am  not  there  at  his  side,  though 
I  do  not  speak  to  him,  nor  touch  him,  nor  hold  him  and  clasp 

him  close Oh,  rather  than  that,  I  will  murder  him  myself 

as  he  sleeps  ! ' ' 

Francine  looked  at  her  in  alarm  for  a  moment  without 
speaking;  then  she  said  in  a  gentle  voice,  "  Murder  the  man 
that  you  love  ?  ' ' 

"Ah!  surely,  when  he  loves  you  no  longer."  But  after 
these  fearful  words,  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  sank  into 
her  chair  and  was  mute. 

The  next  day  some  one  broke  suddenly  into  her  room  with- 
out being  announced.  It  was  Hulot ;  his  face  was  hard  and 
stern,  and  Corentin  came  with  him.  She  raised  her  eyes  and 
trembled. 

**  You  are  come  to  require  an  account  of  your  friends  from 
me?  "  she  said.     "  They  are  dead." 


A   NOTION  OF  F0UCH£:S.  191 

**  I  know  it,'^  answered  Hulot.  "They  did  not  die  in  the 
service  of  the  Republic." 

"For  me,  and  it  was  my  doing.  You  are  about  to  speak 
to  me  of  our  country  !  Will  our  country  give  back  life  to 
those  who  die  for  her?  Will  she  so  much  as  avenge  them? 
Now,  I,"  she  cried,  "  will  avenge  them  !  " 

Baleful  visions  of  the  tragedy  in  which  she  had  nearly  fallen 
a  victim  rose  up  and  formed  themselves  before  her  eyes ;  a 
mad  impulse  seized  this  gracious  being,  who  held  modesty  to 
be  a  woman's  first  artifice,  and  she  marched  abruptly  over  to 
the  amazed  commandant.  Her  aroused  nature  gave  her  a 
tragic  yet  queenly  attitude. 

"  For  a  few  murdered  soldiers,"  she  said,  **  I  will  bring  a 
head  worth  thousands  of  others  beneath  the  axe  upon  your 
scaffold.  Women  carry  on  war  but  seldom,  yet  you,  however 
old  you  may  be,  may  pick  up  excellent  stratagems  in  my 
school.  I  will  give  over  to  your  bayonets  in  him  a  whole 
family,  his  ancestors,  his  present,  past  and  future.  Insomuch 
as  I  have  been  kind  and  true  to  him,  so  I  will  be  crafty  and 
false !  Yes,  commandant !  I  mean  to  bring  this  gallant 
gentleman  home  to  me ;  he  shall  only  leave  my  arms  to  go  to 
his  death  !'  Yes  !  I  shall  never  know  a  rival.  The  wretch 
pronounced  his  own  death  sentence :  A  day  without  a  mor- 
row I We  shall  both  of  us  be  avenged,  your  Republic 

and  I.  The  Republic!"  she  went  on,  with  a  strange  in- 
flection in  her  voice  that  startled  Hulot ;  "so  the  rebel 
will  die,  after  all,  for  bearing  arms  against  his  country? 
France  herself  will  cheat  me  of  my  revenge  ?  Ah  !  one  life  is 
such  a  little  thing — one  death  can  only  atone  for  a  single 
crime  !  But  since  this  gentleman  has  but  one  head  to  lose, 
in  the  night  before  he  dies  I  will  make  him  feel  that  he  is 
losing  more  than  a  life.  But  before  all  things,  commandant, 
for  it  will  be  you  who  will  put  him  to  death,"  and  a  sigh 
broke  from  her,  "act  in  such  a  way  that  nothing  shall  betray 
my  treason  ;  let  him  die  with  a  full  belief  in  my  faith.     That 


192  THE   CHOUANS, 

is  all  that  I  ask  of  you.  Let  him  see  nothing  but  me — me 
and  my  endearments  !  " 

With  that  she  stopped ;  but  in  the  dark  flush  on  her  face 
Hulot  and  Corentin  saw  that  anger  and  rage  had  not  extin- 
guished modesty.  Marie  shuddered  violently  as  she  uttered 
these  last  words ;  she  seemed  to  listen  for  them  afresh,  as  if 
she  were  not  sure  that  she  had  spoken  them.  She  trembled 
undisguisedly,  and  made  the  involuntary  gesture  of  a  woman 
who  has  suddenly  dropped  her  veil. 

"But  you  have  had  him  already  in  your  hands!"  said 
Corentin. 

"Very  likely,"  she  replied  bitterly. 

"  Why  did  you  stop  me  when  I  had  hold  of  him? "  asked 
Hulot. 

"  Eh,  commandant !  We  did  not  know  that  it  was  he  .'" 
Suddenly,  the  excited  woman  who  was  hurriedly  pacing  to 
and  fro,  flinging  fiery  glances  at  the  two  witnesses  of  this 
tempest,  grew  calmer.  "I  hardly  know  myself,"  she  said, 
and  her  tones  were  those  of  a  man.  "What  is  the  good  of 
talking?     We  must  go  in  search  of  him  !  " 

"Go  in  search  of  him?"  repeated  Hulot;  "my  dear 
child,  mind  that  you  do  not.  We  are  not  masters  of  this 
country-side  ;  and  if  you  venture  to  stir  a  hundred  paces  out 
of  the  town,  you  will  either  be  killed  or  taken  prisoner." 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  danger  for  those  who  are  seek- 
ing for  vengeance!"  she  answered,  and  with  a  disdainful 
gesture  she  dismissed  the  two  men  from  her  presence;  the 
sight  of  them  filled  her  with  shame. 

"  What  a  woman  !  "  Hulot  exclaimed  as  he  withdrew  with 
Corentin.  "What  a  notion  those  police  fellows  in  Paris 
have  had  !  But  she  will  never  give  him  up  to  us,"  he  added 
with  a  shake  of  the  head.  * 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  will !  "  Corentin  replied. 

"Can  you  not  see  that  she  is  in  love  with  him?"  said 
Hulot. 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCH^'S.  193 

"That  is  exactly  the  reason.  Moreover,"  said  Corentin, 
AS  he  looked  at  the  astonished  commandant,  "  I  am  on  the 
spot  to  prevent  any  nonsense  on  her  part ;  for  to  my  thinking, 
comrade,  there  is  no  love  affair  worth  three  hundred  thousand 
francs." 

With  that,  this  diplomatist  of  the  Home  Office  left  the 
soldier,  who  followed  him  with  his  eyes;  and,  when  he  no 
longer  heard  the  sound  of  the  other's  footsteps,  he  heaved  a 
sigh  and  remarked  to  himself:  **  So  there  is  some  advantage 
at  times  in  being  a  mere  thick-head  like  me  ?  Tonnerre  de 
Dieu  !  If  I  hit  upon  the  Gars,  we  will  fight  it  out  man  to 
man,  or  my  name  is  not  Hulot ;  for  now  that  they  have 
instituted  councils  of  war,  if  yonder  fox  is  anything  to  go  by, 
my  conscience  will  be  no  cleaner,  I  should  say,  than  any 
trooper's  shirt  who  has  gone  under  fire  for  the  first  time." 

The  massacre  at  the  Vivetiere  and  the  desire  to  avenge  his 
two  friends  had  been  quite  as  strong  inducements  to  resume 
the  command  of  his  demi-brigade  as  the  letter  Hulot  had  re- 
ceived from  the  new  minister  Berthier,  who  informed  him 
that  under  the  circumstances  his  resignation  could  not  be 
accepted.  Along  with  the  official  dispatch  came  a  confiden- 
tial letter,  containing  no  information  concerning  Mile,  de 
Verneuil's  mission,  but  informing  him  that  this  incident  was 
completely  without  the  scope  of  military  operations,  and 
should  therefore  in  no  way  hamper  their  progress.  The  share 
of  the  military  leaders  in  that  matter  was  confined,  so  it  ran, 
**  to  seconding  the  honorable  citoyenne  if  occasion  should 
call  for  it." 

The  reports  which  Hulot  received  having  made  it  clear  to 
him  that  the  mobilization  of  the  Chouans  was  being  directed 
upon  Fougdres,  he  threw  two  battalions  of  his  demi-brigade 
into  that  important  place,  bringing  them  by  forced  marches 
and  hidden  ways.  Everything  about  him  had  wrought  to 
bring  back  all  the  fire  of  his  youth  into  the  veteran  com- 
mandant— the  perils  of  his  country,  a  hatred  of  the  aristoc- 
13 


194  THE   CHOUANS. 

racy  whose  partisans  were  threatening  such  a  considerable 
district,  and  the  promptings  of  friendship. 

"This,  at  last,  is  the  life  I  was  longing  for!"  cried  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  when  she  was  alone  with  Francine.  "  However 
swiftly  the  hours  may  pass,  they  are  like  centuries  of  thought 
to  me."  She  took  Francine's  hand  impulsively,  and  these 
words  fell  from  her,  one  by  one,  in  a  voice  like  the  first 
robin's  notes  after  a  storm.  **  I  cannot  help  it,  my  child.  I 
always  see  those  two  exquisite  lips  j  the  short,  slightly  promi- 
nent chin,  and  those  eyes  of  fire ;  I  hear  again  the  *  hue ! ' 
of  the  postilion,  and  at  last  I  fall  to  dreaming.  And  why  is 
there  such  hatred  in  me  when  I  awake? " 

She  heaved  a  long  sigh,  and  rose  to  her  feet.  She  looked 
out  for  the  first  time  over  the  country,  which  had  been  given 
over  to  civil  war  by  the  cruel  noble  whom  she  would  fain 
combat — she  and  no  other.  The  view  had  an  attraction  for 
her ;  it  drew  her  out  of  doors  to  breathe  more  freely  under 
the  open  sky  ;  and  if  it  was  chance  that  determined  her  way, 
she  was  certainly  under  the  influence  of  the  dark  power 
within  us,  which  makes  us  look  for  a  gleam  of  hope  in  some 
absurd  course.  Ideas  that  occur  to  us  while  we  are  under 
this  spell  are  often  realized  ;  and  then  we  attribute  our  in- 
stinctive insight  to  the  faculty  that  we  call  presentiment — a 
power  which  is  real,  if  unexplained,  and  which  is  ever  ready 
at  the  beck  and  call  of  the  passions,  like  a  parasite  who  some- 
times utters  a  true  word  among  his  lies. 


m 

A  DAY  WITHOUT  A  MORROW. 

As  the  final  events  of  this  story  were  largely  determined 
by  the  character  of  the  country  in  which  they  took  place,  a 
detailed  description  of  it  is  unavoidable,  for  otherwise  the 
catastrophe  will  be  difficult  to  understand. 

The  town  of  Fougeres  is  partly  situated  on  a  mass  of 
schistous  rock  that  might  have  fallen  forward  from  the  hills 
that  close  round  the  western  end  of  the  wide  valley  of  the 
Couesnon,  each  of  which  is  differently  named  in  different 
places  round  about.  A  narrow  ravine,  with  the  little  stream 
called  the  Nangon  running  at  the  bottom  of  it,  separates  the 
town  from  these  hills.  The  eastern  side  of  the  mass  of  rock 
commands  a  view  of  the  same  landscape  that  the  traveler 
enjoys  from  the  top  of  La  Pelerine ;  the  only  prospect  from 
the  western  side  is  along  the  tortuous  valley  of  the  Nangon ; 
but  there  is  one  spot  whence  it  is  possible  to  see  a  segment  of 
the  great  circle  formed  by  the  main  valley  as  well  as  the 
picturesque  windings  of  the  smaller  one  that  opens  out  into 
it.  Here  the  townspeople  had  elected  to  make  a  promenade, 
hither  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  betaking  herself,  and  this  very 
place  was  to  be  the  stage  on  which  the  drama  begun  at  the 
Vivetiere  was  to  be  carried  out.  However  picturesque,  there- 
fore, the  other  parts  of  the  town  of  Fougdres  may  be,  atten- 
tion must  be  exclusively  directed  to  the  disposition  of  the 
country  that  is  visible  from  the  highest  point  of  the  prom- 
enade. 

To  give  an  idea  of  the  appearance  of  the  rock  of  Fougeres 
when  seen  from  this  side,  a  comparison  might  be  made 
between  it  and  one  of  those  huge  towers,  about  which  Saracen 
architects  have  fashioned  tier  after  tier  of  balconies,  connected 

(195) 


196  THE   CHOUANS. 

one  with  the  other  by  spiral  staircases.  The  topmost  point 
of  the  rock  terminates  in  a  Gothic  church  with  its  crockets, 
spire  and  buttresses,  which  completes  the  almost  perfect  sugar- 
loaf  form  of  the  whole.  Before  the  door  of  this  church, 
which  is  dedicated  to  St.  Leonard,  lies  a  little  irregularly 
shaped  square.  The  soil  there  is  banked  up  and  sustained  by 
a  wall  that  runs  round  it  like  a  balustrade,  and  it  communi- 
cates with  the  promenade  by  a  flight  of  steps.  This  esplanade 
runs  round  about  the  rock  like  a  second  cornice,  several 
fathoms  below  the  square  of  St.  Leonard,  presenting  an  open 
space  planted  with  trees,  which  is  brought  to  an  end  by  the 
fortifications  of  the  town.  Then,  after  a  further  interval  of 
some  ten  fathoms  of  rocks  and  masonry  which  support  this 
terrace  (thanks,  partly  to  the  fortunate  disposition  of  the  schist, 
and  partly  to  patient  industry),  there  lies  a  winding  road 
called  "The  Queen's  Staircase,"  cut  out  of  the  rock  itself, 
and  leading  to  a  bridge  built  over  the  Nan^on  by  Anne  of 
Brittany.  Underneath  this  road  again,  which  makes  a  third 
cornice,  the  gardens  slope  in  terraces  down  to  the  river,  look- 
ing like  tiers  of  staging  covered  with  flowers. 

Lofty  crags,  called  the  hills  of  St.  Sulpice,  after  the  name 
of  the  suburb  of  the  town  in  which  they  rise,  run  parallel 
with  the  promenade  and  along  the  river-side.  Their  sides 
slope  gently  down  into  the  main  valley,  wherein  they  take  a 
sharp  turn  towards  the  north.  These  steep,  dark,  and  barren 
crags  seem  almost  to  touch  the  schistous  rock  of  the  prom- 
enade, coming  in  some  places  within  a  gunshot  of  them,  and 
they  shelter  from  the  north  wind  a  narrow  valley  some 
hundred  fathoms  in  depth,  wherein  the  Nangon  divides  itself 
into  three  streams,  and  waters  a  meadow-land  pleasantly  laid 
out  and  filled  with  houses. 

To  the  south,  just  where  the  town,  properly  speaking, 
comes  to  an  end,  and  the  suburb  of  St.  Leonard  begins,  the 
rock  of  Fougdres  makes  a  curve,  grows  less  lofty  and  pre- 
cipitous, turns  into  the  main  valley  and  stretches  along  the 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MO l! ROW.  197 

river,  which  is  thus  shut  in  between  it  and  the  hills  of  St.  Sul- 
pice  in  a  narrow  pass.  Thence  the  river  flows  in  two  streams 
towards  the  Couesnon  into  which  it  falls.  This  picturesque 
range  of  rocky  hillsides  is  named  the  Nid-aux-Crocs.  The 
dale  which  is  shut  in  by  them  is  called  the  valley  of  Gibarry, 
and  its  rich  meadows  produce  a  large  proportion  of  the  butter 
known  to  epicures  as  Prevalaye  butter. 

At  the  spot  where  the  promenade  abuts  upon  the  fortifica- 
tions, a  tower  rises  called  the  Papegaut's  Tower.  The  house 
in  which  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  staying  was  built  upon  this 
square  structure.  Beyond  this  point  there  is  nothing  but  a 
sheer  space,  sometimes  of  wall,  sometimes  of  rock,  wherever 
the  latter  presents  a  smooth  surface.  The  portion  of  the 
town  that  is  built  upon  this  lofty  and  impregnable  base 
describes  an  immense  half-moon,  at  the  termination  of  which 
the  rocks  slope  away  and  are  hollowed  out  so  as  to  give  an 
outlet  to  the  Nangon.  Here  stands  the  gate  of  St.  Sulpice, 
through  which  the  way  lies  into  the  suburb  that  bears  the 
same  name.  On  a  knoll  of  granite  rock,  commanding  the 
entrance  into  three  valleys  wherein  several  roads  converge, 
rise  the  ancient  crenellated  turrets  of  the  feudal  castle  of 
Fougeres,  one  of  the  most  considerable  structures  erected  by 
the  Dukes  of  Britanny,  with  its  walls  fifteen  fathoms  high  and 
fifteen  feet  thick.  On  its  eastern  side  the  castle  is  protected 
by  a  pond  in  which  the  Nan^on  rises,  flowing  thence  through 
the  moats,  and  turning  several  mills  between  the  gate  of  St. 
Sulpice  and  the  drawbridges  of  the  fortress.  On  the  western 
side  the  perpendicular  rocks  on  which  the  castle  is  built  form 
a  sufficient  defence. 

Thus,  from  the  promenade  to  this  magnificent  relic  of  the 
middle  ages,  adorned  with  its  mantling  ivy  and  its  turrets 
round  or  square,  in  any  one  of  which  a  whole  regiment  might 
be  quartered ;  the  castle,  the  town,  and  its  rock  protected  by 
a  curtain  of  wall,  or  by  scarps  hewn  in  the  rock  itself,  form 
one  immense  horseshoe,  surrounded  by  precipices,  on  the  side 


198  THE   CHOUANS. 

of  which  (time  aiding  them)  the  Bretons  have  beaten  out  a 
few  narrow  footpaths.  Blocks  of  stone  project  here  and 
there  as  if  by  way  of  decoration,  or  water  oozes  out  tlu-ough 
crannies  where  spindling  trees  are  growing.  Further  on,  a 
few  less  precipitous  slabs  of  granite  support  a  little  grass  which 
attracts  the  goats ;  and  the  heather  grows  everywhere,  pene- 
trating many  a  damp  crevice  and  covering  the  dark  broken 
surface  with  its  rosy  wreaths.  In  the  depth  of  this  great 
funnel  the  little  river  twists  and  winds  in  a  land  of  meadow, 
always  carpeted  with  soft  verdure. 

At  the  foot  of  the  castle  there  rises,  between  several  masses 
of  granite,  the  church  dedicated  to  St.  Sulpice,  which  gives 
its  name  to  a  suburb  on  the  other  side  of  the  Nan^on.  This 
suburb  seems  to  lie  in  the  bottom  of  an  abyss ;  the  pointed 
steeple  of  its  church  is  not  as  high  as  the  rocks  that  seem 
ready  to  fall  down  upon  it  and  its  surrounding  cottages,  which 
are  picturesquely  watered  by  certain  branches  of  the  Nangon, 
shaded  by  trees  and  adorned  with  gardens,  These  make  an 
irregular  indentation  in  the  half-moon  described  by  the  prom- 
enade, the  town,  and  the  castle ;  and  their  details  are  in  quaint 
contrast  to  the  sober-looking  amphitheatre  which  they  con- 
front. The  whole  town  of  Fougeres,  with  its  churches  and 
its  suburbs,  and  even  the  hills  of  St.  Sulpice,  has  for  its  frame 
and  setting  the  heights  of  Rille,  which  form  a  part  of  the 
chain  of  hills  that  encircle  the  main  valley  of  the  Couesnon. 

Such  are  the  most  striking  natural  features  of  this  country. 
Its  principal  characteristic  is  a  rugged  wildness,  softened  by 
intervals  of  smiling  land,  by  a  happy  mingling  of  the  most 
magnificent  works  of  man  with  the  caprices  of  a  soil  vexed 
by  unlooked-for  contrasts;  by  an  indescribable  something 
that  takes  us  unawares,  that  amazes  and  overawes  us.  In  no 
other  part  of  France  does  the  traveler  meet  with  contrasts  on 
so  magnificent  a  scale  as  in  this  wide  valley  of  the  Couesnon 
and  among  the  dales  that  are  almost  hidden  between  the 
craggy  rocks  of  Fougeres  and  the  heights  of  Rill6.     There  is 


A  DAY   WITHOUT  A  MORROW.  199 

beauty  of  a  rare  kind  in  which  chance  is  the  predominating 
element,  but  which,  for  all  that,  lacks  no  charm  due  to  the 
harmony  of  nature.  Here  are  clear,  limpid,  rushing  streams ; 
hills  clad  in  the  luxuriant  vegetation  of  these  districts ;  stern 
masses  of  rock  and  shapely  buildings ;  natural  fortifications 
and  towers  of  granite  built  by  man.  Here  are  all  the  effects 
wrought  by  the  play  of  light  and  shadow,  all  the  varied  hues 
of  different  kinds  of  foliage  so  highly  valued  by  artists; 
groups  of  houses  alive  with  a  busy  population,  and  solitary 
places  where  the  granite  scarcely  affords  a  hold  to  the  pale 
lichens  that  cling  about  stone  surfaces;  here,  in  short,  is 
every  suggestion  of  beauty  or  of  dread  that  can  be  looked  for 
from  a  landscape — a  poetry  full  of  constantly  renewed  magic, 
of  pictures  of  the  grandest  kind,  and  charming  scenes  of 
country  life.     Here  is  Brittany  in  its  flower. 

The  Papegaut's  Tower,  as  it  is  called,  upon  which  the  house 
occupied  by  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  built,  has  its  foundations 
at  the  very  bottom  of  the  precipice,  and  rises  to  the  level  of 
the  esplanade  which  has  been  constructed,  cornice  fashion,  in 
front  of  St.  Leonard's  church.  The  view  from  this  house, 
which  is  isolated  on  three  of  its  sides,  includes  the  great  horse- 
shoe (which  has  its  starting-point  in  the  tower  itself),  the 
winding  valley  of  the  Nangon,  and  the  square  of  St.  Leonard. 
The  dwelling  is  one  of  a  row  of  houses  three  centuries  old, 
built  of  wood,  and  lying  in  a  parallel  line  with  the  north  side 
of  the  church  in  such  a  manner  as  to  form  a  blind  alley  with 
it.  The  alley  opens  on  to  a  steep  road  that  passes  along  one 
side  of  the  church  and  leads  to  the  gate  of  St.  Leonard,  to- 
wards which  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  descending. 

Marie  naturally  felt  no  inclination  to  go  up  into  the  square 
before  the  church,  beneath  which  she  was  standing,  so  she 
turned  in  the  direction  of  the  promenade.  When  she  had 
passed  through  the  little  green-painted  barrier,  which  stood 
before  the  guardhouse  now  established  in  the  tower  of  St. 
Leonard's  gate,  the  conflict  within  her  was  stilled  by  the  sight 


200  THE   C HO  VANS. 

of  the  wonderful  view.  She  first  admired  the  wide  stretch  of 
the  main  valley  of  the  Couesnon — the  whole  length  and 
breadth  of  it  met  her  eyes,  from  the  summit  of  La  Pelerine 
to  the  level  plain,  through  which  the  road  runs  to  Vitr^.  Then 
her  gaze  rested  upon  the  Nid-aux-Crocs,  upon  the  winding 
lines  of  the  valley  of  Gibarry,  and  upon  the  ridges  of  the 
hills,  bathed  as  they  were  in  the, glow  of  the  misty  sunset. 
The  depth  of  the  valley  of  the  Nan<pon  almost  startled  her ; 
the  tallest  poplars  down  below  scarcely  reached  the  height  of 
the  garden  walls  that  lay  beneath  the  Queen's  Staircase.  On 
she  went,  one  marvel  still  succeeding  to  another,  till  she 
reached  a  point  whence  she  could  see  the  main  valley  beyond 
the  dale  of  Gibarry,  and  the  whole  lovely  landscape  was 
framed  by  the  horseshoe  of  the  town,  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice, 
and  the  heights  of  Rill6. 

At  that  hour  of  day,  the  smoke,  rising  from  the  houses  in 
the  suburbs  and  the  valleys,  made  wreaths  of  cloud  in  the 
atmosphere ;  every  object  dawned  on  the  sight  through  a  sort 
of  bluish  canopy.  The  garish  daylight  hues  had  begun  to 
fade,  the  tone  of  the  sky  changed  to  a  pearly  gray,  the  moon 
flung  its  misty  light  over  the  depths  of  the  fair  land  below, — 
all  the  surroundings  tended  to  steep  the  soul  in  musings,  and 
to  call  up  memories  of  beloved  forms. 

Suddenly  she  lost  all  interest  in  the  shingle  roofs  of  the  sub- 
urb of  St.  Sulpice,  in  its  church  with  the  bold  spire  that  was 
all  but  swallowed  up  in  the  depths  of  the  valley,  in  the  ivy 
and  clematis  that  had  grown  for  centuries  over  the  walls  of 
the  old  fortress,  whence  the  Nangon  issues,  boiling  over  its 
mill-wheels,  and  in  all  else  in  the  landscape.  In  vain  the  sun- 
set poured  a  golden  dust,  and  sheets  of  crimson  light  over 
the  peaceful  dwellings  scattered  among  the  rocks,  along  the 
stream,  and  in  the  meadows  far  below, — she  was  staring  fixedly 
at  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice.  The  wild  hope  that  had  brought 
her  out  upon  the  promenade  had  been  miraculously  realized. 

Across  the  furze  and  the  bushes  of  broom  that  grew  along 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  201 

the  tops  of  the  opposite  hillsides,  she  thought  that  in  spite 
of  their  goatskin  clothing,  she  could  recognize  several  of 
the  guests  at  the  Vivetiere.  The  Gars  was  conspicuous 
among  them ;  his  slightest  movements  stood  out  against  the 
soft  glow  of  the  sunset.  Some  paces  behind  the  principal 
group  she  saw  her  formidable  enemy,  Mme.  du  Gua.  For  a 
moment  Mile,  de  Verneuil  might  have  thought  that  she  was 
dreaming,  but  her  rival's  hatred  very  soon  made  it  plain  to 
her  that  everything  in  this  dream  had  life.  The  rapt  atten- 
tion with  which  she  was  watching  every  slightest  gesture  on  the 
part  of  the  Marquis  prevented  her  from  noticing  the  care  with 
which  Mme.  du  Gua  was  aiming  a  rifle  at  her.  The  echoes 
of  the  hills  rang  with  the  report,  and  a  ball  whistling  close  to 
Marie  revealed  her  rival's  skill  to  her. 

''  She  is  sending  me  her  card  ! "  she  exclaimed,  smiling  to 
herself.  In  a  moment  there  was  a  cry  in  chorus  of  "Who 
goes  there?"  echoed  by  sentinel  after  sentinel,  all  the  way 
from  the  castle  to  St.  Leonard's  gate,  which  made  the  Chouans 
aware  of  the  precautions  taken  by  the  Fougerais,  since  the 
least  vulnerable  side  of  their  ramparts  was  now  so  well 
guarded. 

"It  is  she,  and  it  is  he  !"  said  Marie  to  herself.  With  the 
speed  of  lightning  the  idea  of  seeking,  tracking,  and  sur- 
prising the  Marquis  flashed  across  her.  "  I  have  no  weapon  !  " 
she  exclaimed.  She  bethought  herself  that,  just  as  she  was 
leaving  Paris,  she  had  thrown  into  a  trunk  an  elegant 
dagger,  a  thing  that  had  once  belonged  to  a  sultan.  She 
had  provided  herself  with  it  when  she  set  out  for  the  scene 
of  the  war  in  the  same  humor  which  prompts  some  amusing 
beings  to  equip  themselves  with  notebooks,  in  which  to 
jot  down  the  ideas  that  occur  to  them  upon  a  journey.  She 
had  been  less  attracted,  however,  by  the  prospect  of  blood- 
shed than  by  the  mere  pleasure  of  carrying  a  beautiful  jeweled 
kandjar,  and  of  playing  with  the  blade,  as  clean  as  an  eye- 
glance.     Three  days  ago,  when  she  had  sought  to  kill  herself 


202  THE    CHOUANS. 

to  escape  her  rival's  hideous  revenge,  she  had  keenly  regretted 
leaving  this  weapon  in  her  trunk. 

In  a  moment  she  reached  the  house  again,  found  the 
dagger,  thrust  it  into  her  belt,  muffled  a  great  shawl  round 
about  her  shoulders,  wound  a  black  lace  scarf  about  her  hair, 
covered  her  head  with  a  large  flapping  hat,  like  those  worn  by 
the  Chouans,  which  she  borrowed  from  a  servant  about  the 
house ;  and,  with  the  self-possession  which  the  passions  some- 
times bestow,  she  took  up  the  glove  belonging  to  the  Marquis, 
which  Marche-a-Terre  had  given  to  her  as  a  safe-conduct.  In 
response  to  Francine's  alarmed  inquiries,  she  replied — 

"What  would  you  have;  I  would  go  to  hell  to  look  for 
him  .'"  and  she  went  back  to  the  promenade. 

The  Gars  was  still  there  in  the  same  place,  but  he  was  alone. 
From  the  direction  taken  by  his  perspective-glass,  he  appeared 
to  be  scrutinizing  with  a  soldier's  minute  attention  the  various 
fords  of  the  Nan^on,  the  Queen's  Staircase,  and  the  road  that 
starts  from  the  gate  of  St.  Sulpice,  winds  by  the  church,  and 
joins  the  high  road  within  range  of  the  guns  of  the  castle.  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  sprang  down  the  narrow  paths  made  by  the  goat- 
herds and  their  flocks  upon  the  slopes  of  the  promenade,  gained 
the  Queen's  Staircase,  reached  the  foot  of  the  crags,  crossed 
the  Nan^on,  passed  through  the  suburb,  found  her  way  in- 
stinctively, like  a  bird  in  the  desert  among  the  perilous  scarped 
rocks  of  St.  Sulpice,  and  very  soon  reached  a  slippery  track 
over  the  granite  boulders.  In  spite  of  the  bushes  of  broom, 
the  thorny  furze,  and  the  sharp  loose  stones,  she  began  to 
climb  with  an  amount  of  energy  unknown  perhaps  in  man, 
but  which  woman,  when  completely  carried  away  by  passion, 
possesses  for  a  time. 

Night  overtook  Marie  just  as  she  reached  the  summit, 
and  tried  to  discover,  by  the  pale  moonlight,  the  way  which 
the  Marquis  must  have  taken.  It  was  a  search  made  per- 
sistently but  without  any  success.  From  the  silence  that  pre- 
vailed throughout  the  region  she  gathered  that  the  Chouans 


A  DAY   WITHOUT  A  MORROW.  203 

and  their  leader  had  retired.  She  suddenly  relinquished  the 
effort  begun  in  passion,  along  with  the  hope  that  had  inspired 
it.  She  found  herself  benighted  and  alone  in  the  midst  of 
a  strange  country  where  war  was  raging ;  she  began  to  re- 
flect, and  Hulot's  warning  and  Mme.  du  Gua's  shot  made 
her  shudder  with  fear.  The  silence  of  night  upon  the  hills 
was  so  deep  that  she  could  hear  the  least  rustle  of  a  wander- 
ing leaf,  even  a  long  way  off;  such  faint  sounds  as  these, 
trembling  in  the  air,  gave  a  gloomy  idea  of  the  utter  solitude 
and  quiet. 

The  wind  blew  furiously  in  the  sky  above,  bringing  up 
clouds  that  cast  shadows  below ;  the  effects  of  alternate 
light  and  darkness  increased  her  fears,  by  giving  a  fantastic 
and  terrifying  appearance  to  objects  of  the  most  harmless 
kind. 

She  turned  her  eyes  towards  the  houses  in  Fougeres ;  the 
lights  of  every  household  glimmered  like  stars  on  earth,  and 
all  at  once  she  descried  the  Papegaut  tower.  The  distance 
she  must  traverse  in  order  to  reach  her  dwelling  was  short 
indeed,  but  that  distance  consisted  of  a  precipice.  She  had  a 
sufficiently  clear  recollection  of  the  abysses  at  the  brink  of  the 
narrow  footpath  by  which  she  had  come,  to  see  that  she  would 
incur  greater  peril  by  trying  to  return  to  Fougeres  than  by 
continuing  her  enterprise.  She  reflected  that  the  Marquis' 
glove  would  deprive  her  nocturnal  excursion  of  all  its  dangers, 
if  the  Chouans  should  be  in  poesession  of  the  country.  She 
had  only  Mme.  du  Gua  to  dread.  At  the  thought  of  her, 
Marie  clutched  her  dagger  and  tried  to  go  in  the  direction  of 
a  house,  of  the  roofs  of  which  she  had  caught  a  glimpse  as 
she  reached  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice.  She  made  but  slow 
progress.  Never  before  had  she  known  the  majesty  of  dark- 
ness that  oppresses  a  solitary  being  at  night  in  the  midst  of  a 
wild  country,  over  which  the  mountains,  like  a  company  of 
giants,  seem  to  bow  their  lofty  heads. 

The  rustle  of  her   dress,  caught  by  the  gorse,  made  her 


204  THE   CHOUANS. 

tremble  more  than  once  ;  more  than  once  she  quickened  her 
pace,  only  to  slacken  it  again  with  the  thought  that  her 
last  hour  had  come.  But  circumstances  very  soon  assumed 
a  character,  which  might  perhaps  have  daunted  the  boldest 
men,  and  which  threw  Marie  into  one  of  those  panics  that 
make  such  heavy  demands  upon  the  springs  of  life  within 
us,  that  everything,  strength  as  well  as  weakness,  is  exagger- 
ated in  the  individual.  The  weakest  natures  at  such  times 
show  an  unexpected  strength  ;  and  the  strongest  grow  frantic 
with  terror. 

Marie  heard  strange  sounds  at  a  little  distance.  They  were 
vague  and  distinct  at  the  same  time,  just  as  the  surrounding 
night  was  lighter  and  darker  by  turns.  They  seemed  to  indi- 
cate tumult  and  confusion.  She  strained  her  ears  to  catch 
them.  They  rose  from  the  depths  of  the  earth,  which 
appeared  to  be  shaking  with  the  tramp  of  a  great  multitude  of 
men  on  the  march.  A  momentary  gleam  of  light  allowed 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  see,  at  a  distance  of  a  few  paces,  a  long 
file  of  horrid  forms  swaying  like  ears  of  corn  in  the  fields — 
stealing  along  like  goblin  shapes.  But  hardly  had  she  seen 
them  when  darkness,  like  a  black  curtain,  fell  again  and  hid 
from  her  this  fearful  vision  full  of  yellow  and  glittering  eyes. 
She  shrank  back  and  rushed  swiftly  to  the  top  of  a  slope,  to 
escape  three  of  these  horrible  figures  that  were  approach- 
ing her. 

"  Did  you  see  him? "  asked  one. 

*'  I  felt  a  cold  wind  when  he  passed  near  me,"  a  hoarse 
voice  replied. 

**  I  myself  breathed  the  dank  air  and  the  smell  of  a  grave- 
yard," said  a  third. 

"  How  pale  he  is  !  "  the  first  speaker  began. 

"  Why  has  he  returned  alone  out  of  all  who  fell  at  La 
Pelerine?  "  asked  the  second. 

"Ah,  why  indeed?"  replied  the  third.  "Why  should 
those  who  belong  to  the  Sacred    Heart  have  the  preference? 


A  DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  205 

However,  I  would  rather  die  unconfessed  than  wander  about 
as  he  does,  neither  eating  nor  drinking,  without  any  blood  in 
his  veins  or  flesh  on  his  bones." 

'*Ah!" 

This  exclamation,  or  rather  fearful  yell,  broke  from  the 
group  as  one  of  the  Chouans  pointed  to  the  slender  form  and 
pallid  face  of  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  was  flying  with  the 
speed  of  fear,  while  none  of  them  caught  the  slightest  sound 
of  her  movements. 

'•'There  he  is! — Here  he  is! — Where  is  he? — There! — 
Here  ! — He  has  vanished  ! — No  ! — Yes  ! — Do  you  see  him?" 
The  words  rolled  out  like  the  monotonous  sound  of  waves 
upon  the  beach. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  went  on  bravely  towards  the  house,  and 
saw  the  dim  figures  of  a  crowd  which  fled  away  at  her  approach 
with  every  sign  of  panic-stricken  fear.  A  strange  force 
within  her  seemed  to  urge  her  on  ;  its  influence  was  over- 
powering her ;  a  sensation  of  corporeal  lightness,  which  she 
could  not  understand,  was  a  fresh  source  of  terror  to  her. 
The  shapes  which  rose  in  masses  at  her  approach,  as  if  from 
under  the  earth,  where  they  appeared  to  be  lying,  gave  groans 
which  seemed  to  have  nothing  human  about  them.  At  last, 
and  not  without  difficulty,  she  reached  a  garden,  now  lying 
waste,  with  all  its  fencing  and  hedges  broken  down.  She 
showed  her  glove  to  a  sentinel  who  stopped  her.  The  moon- 
light fell  upon  her  form,  and  at  the  sight  the  sentinel,  who 
had  pointed  his  carbine  at  Marie,  let  the  weapon  fall  from  his 
hand,  uttering  a  hoarse  cry  that  rang  through  the  country 
round  about. 

She  saw  large  masses  of  buildings,  with  a  light  here  and 
there  which  showed  that  some  of  the  rooms  were  inhabited ; 
and  without  further  let  or  hindrance  she  reached  the  wall  of 
the  house.  Through  the  first  window  towards  which  she 
went  she  beheld  Mme.  du  Gua  and  the  chiefs  who  had  come 
together  at  the  Viveti^re.     This  sight,  combined  with  the 


206  THE   CHOUANS. 

consciousness  of  the  peril  she  was  in,  made  her  reckless.  She 
flung  herself  violently  upon  a  low  opening,  covered  with 
massive  iron  bars,  and  discerned  the  Marquis  two  paces  dis- 
tant from  her,  melancholy  and  alone,  in  a  long  vaulted  hall. 
The  reflections  of  the  firelight  from  the  hearth,  before  which 
he  was  sitting  in  a  cumbrous  chair,  lighted  up  his  face  with 
flickering  hues  of  red  that  made  the  whole  scene  look  like  a 
vision.  The  poor  girl  strained  herself  to  the  bars,  trembling, 
but  otherwise  motionless  :  she  hoped  that  she  should  hear  him 
if  he  spoke  in  the  deep  silence  that  prevailed.  She  saw  him 
looking  pale,  dejected,  and  disheartened  ;  she  flattered  her- 
self that  she  was  one  of  the  causes  of  his  melancholy,  and 
her  anger  turned  to  sympathy,  and  sympathy  to  tenderness ; 
she  suddenly  felt  that  it  was  not  vengeance  alone  that  had 
drawn  her  thither.  The  Marquis  rose  to  his  feet,  turned  his 
head,  and  stood  bewildered  when  he  beheld  Mile,  de  Verneuil's 
face  as  in  a  cloud  there.  He  made  a  sign  of  scorn  and  impa- 
tience as  he  cried,  "  Must  I  see  that  she-deyil  always  before 
me,  even  in  my  waking  hours?  " 

This  intense  contempt  he  had  conceived  for  her  drew  a 
frenzied  laugh  from  the  poor  girl.  The  young  chief  shud- 
dered at  it,  and  sprang  to  the  window.  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
fled.  She  heard  a  man's  footsteps  behind  her,  and  took  her 
pursuer  for  Montauran.  In  her  desire  to  escape  from  him  she 
discerned  no  obstacles ;  she  would  have  scaled  walls  or  flown 
through  the  air ;  she  could  have  taken  the  road  to  hell  if  so 
be  she  might  read  no  longer,  in  letters  of  flame,  the  words, 
"  He  scorns  you  !  "  written  upon  his  forehead — words  which 
a  voice  repeated  within  her  in  trumpet  tones.  After  walking 
on,  she  knew  not  whither,  she  stopped,  for  a  chilly  dampness 
seemed  to  strike  through  her.  She  heard  the  footsteps  of 
several  people,  and,  impelled  by  fear,  she  descended  a  stair- 
case that  led  into  an  underground  cellar.  As  she  reached  the 
lowest  step,  she  listened  for  the  footsteps  of  the  pursuei-s,  try- 
ing to  ascertain  their  direction  ;  but  though  the  sounds  without 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  Vtl 

were  turbulent  enough,  she  could  hear  the  lamentable  groans 
of  a  human  being  within,  which  added  to  her  terrors. 

A  streak  of  light  from  the  head  of  the  staircase  led  her  to 
fear  lest  her  hiding-place  had  been  discovered  by  her  perse- 
cutors. Her  desire  to  escape  them  lent  her  fresh  strength. 
A  few  moments  later,  when  her  ideas  were  more  collected,  she 
found  it  very  difficult  to  explain  the  way  in  which  she  had 
contrived  to  scramble  up  the  low  wall  on  the  top  of  which  she 
was  hiding.  At  first  she  did  not  even  notice  the  cramp  which 
her  constrained  position  caused  her  to  experience ;  but  the 
pain  at  last  grew  intolerable,  for,  under  the  arch  of  the  vault, 
she  was  much  in  the  position  of  a  crouching  Venus  ensconced 
by  some  amateur  in  too  narrow  a  niche.  The  wall  itself  was 
built  of  granite,  and  fairly  broad ;  it  separated  the  staircase 
from  the  cellar  whence  the  groans  were  -issuing.  She  soon 
saw  a  stranger  clad  in  goatskins  come  down  the  staircase 
beneath  her,  and  turn  under  the  archway,  without  the  least 
sign  about  him  to  indicate  an  excited  search.  In  her  eager- 
ness to  discover  any  chance  of  saving  herself.  Mile,  de  Ver- 
neuil  waited  anxiously  till  the  cellar  was  illuminated  by  the 
light  which  the  stranger  was  carrying;  then  she  beheld  on 
the  floor  a  shapeless  but  living  mass,  trying  to  drag  itself 
towards  a  certain  part  of  the  wall  by  violent  and  repeated 
jerks,  like  the  convulsive  writhings  of  a  carp  that  has  been 
drawn  from  the  river  and  laid  on  the  bank. 

A  small  resinous  torch  soon  cast  a  bluish  and  uncertain  light 
over  the  cellar.  In  spite  of  the  romance  with  which  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  had  invested  the  groined  roof  that  rang  with  the 
sounds  of  agonizing  entreaties,  she  was  compelled  to  recognize 
the  fact  that  she  was  in  an  underground  kitchen  which  had 
been  long  unused.  Thus  illuminated,  the  shapeless  mass 
took  the  form  of  a  short,  stout  person  whose  every  limb  had 
been  carefully  tied,  but  who  seemed  to  have  been  left  on  the 
damp  flags  of  the  pavement  without  any  other  precaution  on 
the  part  of  those  who  had  seized  him. 


208  THE   CHOUANS. 

At  sight  of  the  stranger  (who  carried  a  light  in  one  hand 
and  a  faggot  in  the  other),  the  prisoner  gave  a  deep  groan, 
which  wrought  so  powerfully  on  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  feelings 
that  she  forgot  her  own  terror  and  despair,  and  the  frightful 
cramp  which  was  benumbing  her  doubled-up  limbs  ;  she  could 
scarcely  keep  herself  still.  The  Chouan  flung  down  his  faggot 
upon  the  hearth,  after  assuring  himself  of  the  solidity  of  an 
old  pothook  which  hung  down  the  whole  length  of  a  sheet  of 
cast  iron,  and  set  the  wood  alight  with  his  torch.  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  then  recognized,  not  without  alarm,  the  cunning 
Pille-Miche,  to  whom  her  rival  had  assigned  her.  His  form, 
lighted  up  by  the  flames,  looked  very  like  one  of  the  tiny 
grotesque  figures  that  Germans  carve  in  wood.  A  broad  grin 
overspread  his  furrowed  and  sunburnt  face  at  the  wails  that 
went  up  from  his  prisoner. 

"You  see,"  he  remarked  to  the  suff'erer,  "that  Christians 
such  as  we  are  do  not  go  back  on  our  words  as  you  do.  This 
fire  here  will  take  some  of  the  stiffness  out  of  your  legs,  and  out 
of  your  hands  and  tongue  too.  But  hold  on  !  I  do  not  see 
a  dripping-pan  to  put  under  your  feet,  and  they  are  so  fat  that 
they  might  put  the  fire  out.  Your  house  must  be  very  badly 
furnished  when  you  cannot  find  everything  in  it  to  make  the 
master  thoroughly  comfortable  when  he  is  warming  himself." 

At  this  the  victim  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  as  if  he  hoped 
that  his  voice  would  rise  above  the  arched  roof,  and  bring 
some  one  to  his  rescue. 

"  Sing  away  as  much  as  you  like,  M.  d'Orgemont !  They 
have  all  gone  to  bed  upstairs,  and  Marche-a-Terre  is  coming ; 
he  will  shut  the  cellar  door." 

As  he  spoke,  Pille-Miche  rapped  the  butt  end  of  his  carbine 
over  the  mantelpiece,  the  flags  on  the  kitchen  floor,  the  walls 
and  the  stoves,  trying  to  discover  the  place  where  the  miser 
had  hidden  his  gold.  The  search  was  so  cleverly  conducted 
that  d'Orgemont  did  not  utter  a  further  sound.  He  seemed 
possessed  by  the  fear  that  some  frightened  servant  might  have 


A    DAY    WITHOUT  A    MORROW.  209 

betrayed  him ;  for  though  he  had  trusted  nobody,  his  habits 
might  have  given  rise  to  very  well-grounded  suspicions.  From 
time  to  time  Pille-Miche  turned  sharply  and  looked  at  his 
victim,  as  in  the  children's  game,  when  they  try  to  guess  from 
the  unconscious  expression  of  one  of  their  number  the  spot 
where  he  has  hidden  a  given  object  as  they  move  hither  and 
thither  in  search  of  it.  D'Orgemont  showed  some  alarm  for 
the  Chouan's  benefit  when  he  struck  a  hollow  sound  from  the 
stoves,  and  seemed  to  have  a  mind  to  divert  Pille-Miche's 
credulous  greed  in  this  way  for  a  time. 

Just  then  three  other  Chouans  came  running  down  the  stair- 
case, and  suddenly  entered  the  kitchen.  Pille-Miche  aban- 
doned his  search  when  he  saw  Marche-a-Terre,  flinging  a  glance 
at  d'Orgemont  with  all  the  ferocity  that  his  disappointed  ava- 
rice had  aroused  in  him. 

"  Marie  Lambrequin  has  come  to  life  again  !  "  said  Marche- 
a-Terre,  with  a  preoccupation  that  showed  how  all  other  inter- 
ests faded  away  before  such  a  momentous  piece  of  news. 

"I  am  not  surprised  at  that,"  answered  Pille-Miche;  "he 
took  the  sacrament  so  often  !  He  seemed  to  have  le  bon  Dieu 
all  to  himself." 

"Aha!"  remarked  Mene-a-Bien.  "But  it  is  of  no  more 
help  to  him  now  than  shoes  to  a  dead  man.  He  did  not  re- 
ceive absolution  before  that  business  at  La  Pelerine,  and  there 
he  is.  He  misguided  that  girl  of  Gogelu's,  and  was  weighed 
down  by  a  mortal  sin.  Besides  that,  the  Abbe  Gudin  told  us 
he  would  have  to  wait  a  couple  of  months  before  he  could 
come  back  for  good.  We  saw  him  go  along  in  front,  every 
man  jack  of  us.  He  is  white,  and  cold,  and  he  flits  about ; 
there  is  the  scent  of  the  grave  about  him." 

"  And  his  reverence  assured  us  that  if  the  ghost  could  catch 
hold  of  anybody,  he  would  make  just  such  another  of  him," 
the  fourth  Chouan  put  in. 

The  wry  face  of  the  last  speaker  aroused  Marche-a-Terre 
from  religious  musings  prompted  by  the  newly-wrought  mira- 
14 


210  THE   CHOIANS. 

cle,  which,  according  to  the  Abbe  Gudin,  might  be  lenewed 
for  every  pious  champion  of  religion  and  royalty. 

"  Now  you  see,  Galope-Chopine,"  he  said  to  the  neophyte, 
with  a  certain  gravity,  "  what  comes  of  the  slightest  omission 
of  the  duties  commanded  by  our  holy  religion.  St.  Anne  of 
Auray  counseled  us  not  to  pass  over  the  smallest  faults  among 
ourselves.  Your  cousin  Pille-Miche  has  asked  for  \.\\q  surveillance 
of  Fougeres  for  you ;  the  Gars  has  intrusted  you  with  it,  and 
you  will  be  well  paid.  But  you,  perhaps,  know  the  sort  of 
flour  we  knead  into  bread  for  traitors?  " 

"Yes,  M.  Marche-a-Terre. " 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  tell  you  that  ?  There  are  folk  who 
hint  that  you  have  a  hankering  after  cider  and  round  pence  ; 
but  there  is  to  be  no  feathering  of  your  nest,  you  are  to  be 
our  man  now." 

"With  all  due  respect,  M.  Marche-a-Terre,  cider  and  pence 
are  two  good  things  which  do  not  in  any  wise  hinder  salva- 
tion." 

"If  my  cousin  makes  any  blunders,"  said  Pille-Miche,  "it 
will  be  for  want  of  knowing  better." 

"  No  matter  how  it  happens,"  cried  Marche-a-Terre  in  a 
voice  that  shook  the  roof,  "if  anything  goes  wrong,  I  shall 
not  let  him  off.  You  shall  answer  for  him,"  he  added  to 
Pille-Miche;  "if  he  gets  himself  into  trouble,  I  will  take  it 
out  of  the  lining  of  your  goatskins." 

"But,  asking  your  pardon,  M.  Marche-a-Terre,"  Galope- 
Chopine  began,  "  hasn't  it  often  happened  to  you  yourself  to 
mistake  Contre-  Chuins  for  Chuins  ? ' ' 

"My  friend,"  replied  Marche-a-Terre  in  a  dry  tone  of 
voice,  "do  not  let  that  happen  to  you  again,  or  I  will  slice 
you  in  two  like  a  turnip.  Those  who  are  sent  out  by  the  Gars 
will  have  his  glove.  But  since  this  affair  at  the  Vivetiere,  the 
Grande-Garce  fastens  a  green  ribbon  to  it." 

Pille-Miche  jogged  his  comrade's  elbow  sharply,  pointing 
out  d'Orgemont^  who  was  pretending  to  sleep;  but  Marche-a- 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A    MORROW.  211 

Terre  and  Pille-Miche  knew  by  experience  that  no  one  had 
ever  yet  slept  by  the  side  of  their  fire,  and  though  the  last  re- 
marks to  Galope-Chopine  had  been  spoken  in  low  tones,  yet 
the  sufferer  might  have  understood  them  ;  so  all  four  of  the 
Chouans  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  no  doubt  con- 
cluded that  fear  had  deprived  him  of  the  use  of  his  senses. 
Suddenly  Marche-a-Terre  gave  a  slight  sign ;  Pille-Miche 
drew  off  d'Orgemont's  shoes  and  stockings,  Mene-a-Bien  and 
Galope-Chopine  seized  him  by  the  waist  and  carried  him  to 
the  hearth.  Next  Marche-a-Terre  took  a  band  from  the  fag- 
got and  bound  the  miser's  feet  to  the  pot-hook.  All  these 
proceedings,  together  with  the  incredible  quickness  of  their 
movements,  forced  cries  from  the  victim,  which  grew  heart- 
rending when  Pille-Miche  had  heaped  up  the  glowing  coals 
under  his  legs. 

"My  friends,  my  good  friends,"  cried  d'Orgemont,  **  you 
will  hurt  me  !     I  am  a  Christian  as  you  are." 

"You  are  lying  in  your  throat,"  answered  Marche-a-Terre. 
"Your  brother  denied  the  existence  of  God,  and  you  your- 
self bought  the  Abbey  of  Juvigny.  The  Abbe  Gudin  says 
that  we  may  roast  apostates  without  scruple." 

"  But  my  brethren  in  religion,  I  do  not  refuse  to  pay  you," 
cried  d'Orgemont. 

"  We  gave  you  two  weeks,  and  now  two  months  have 
passed,  and  Galope-Chopine  here  has  received  nothing." 

"Then  you  have  received  nothing,  Galope-Chopine?" 
asked  the  miser  in  despair. 

"  Nothing  whatever,  M.  d'Orgemont."  replied  the  alarmed 
Galope-Chopine. 

The  cries  which  had  become  a  continuous  kind  of  growl, 
like  the  death-rattle  of  a  dying  man,  began  afresh  with 
extraordinary  violence.  The  Chouans  were  as  much  used  to 
this  kind  of  scene  as  to  seeing  dogs  go  about  without  shoes  ; 
and  were  looking  on  so  cooly  while  d'Orgemont  writhed  and 
yelled,  that  they  might  have  been  travelers  waiting  round  the 


212  THE    CHOUANS. 

fire  in  an  inn-kitchen  until  the  joint  is  sufficiently  roasted  to 
eat. 

"  I  am  dying  !  I  am  dying  !  "  cried  the  victim,  "  and  you 
will  not  have  my  money." 

Violent  as  his  outcries  were,  Pille-Miche  noticed  that  the 
fire  had  not  yet  scorched  him  ;  it  was  stirred  therefore  in  a 
very  artistic  fashion,  so  as  to  make  the  flames  leap  a  little 
higher.     At  this,  d'Orgemont  said  in  dejected  tones — 

"Untie  me,  my  friends.  What  do  you  want?  A  hundred 
crowns?  A  thousand?  Ten  thousand?  A  hundred  thou- 
sand?    I  offer  you  two  hundred  crowns." 

His  tone  was  so  piteous  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  forgot  her 
own  danger,  and  an  exclamation  broke  from  her. 

"Who  spoke?"  asked  Marche-a-Terre. 

The  Chouans  cast  uneasy  glances  about  them.  The  very 
men  who  were  so  courageous  under  a  murderous  fire  from  the 
cannon's  mouth  dared  not  face  a  ghost.  Pille-Miche  alone 
heard  with  undivided  attention  the  confession  which  increas- 
ing torments  wrung  from  his  victim. 

"Five  hundred  crowns.  Yes,  I  will  pay  it!"  said  the 
miser. 

"Pshaw!  Where  are  they?"  calmly  responded  Pille- 
Miche.' 

"Eh?  Oh,  they  are  under  the  first  apple  tree.  Holy 
Virgin  I  At  the  end  of  the  garden,  to  the  left.  You  are 
bandits  !  You  are  robbers  !  Oh  !  I  am  dying.  There  are 
ten  thousand  francs  there." 

"  I  will  not  take  francs,"  said  Marche-a-Terre ;  "  they  must 
be  livres.  Your  Republican  crowns  have  heathen  figures  on 
them.     They  will  never  pass." 

"It  is  all  in  livres,  in  good  louis  d'or.  But  let  me  loose, 
let  me  loose.    You  know  where  my  life  is,  my  hoard  I  " 

The  four  Chouans  looked  at  each  other,  considering  which 
of  their  number  could  be  trusted  with  the  errand  of  unearth- 
ing the  money.     But  just  then  their  ferocious  cruelty  had  so 


A  DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  213 

revolted  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  that  although  she  could  not  be 
sure  that  the  role  assigned  to  her  by  her  pale  face  would  still 
preserve  her  from  danger,  she  cried  bravely  in  a  deep  tone  of 
voice,  "Do  you  not  fear  the  wrath  of  God?  Unbind  him, 
you  savages  ! '  * 

The  Chouans  looked  up.  They  saw  eyes  that  shone  like 
stars  in  mid-air,  and  fled  in  terror.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  sprang 
down  into  the  kitchen,  ran  up  to  d'Orgemont,  and  drew  him 
from  the  fire  with  such  energy  that  the  faggot  band  snapped, 
then  with  the  blade  of  her  dagger  she  cut  the  cords  with 
which  he  was  bound.  As  soon  as  the  miser  was  liberated  and 
stood  on  his  feet,  the  first  expression  that  crossed  his  face  was 
a  dolorous  but  sardonic  smile.  "Off  with  you!  "  he  said; 
*'  go  to  the  apple-tree,  brigand  !  Ho  !  ho !  This  is  the 
second  time  that  I  have  hoodwinked  them,  and  they  shall  not 
get  hold  of  me  a  third  time  !  " 

Just  then  a  woman's  voice  sounded  without.  "  A  ghost !" 
cried  Mme.  du  Gua.  "A  ghost/  Idiots!  It  is  she/  A 
thousand  crowns  to  any  one  who  will  bring  that  harlot's  head 
to  me ! " 

Mme.  de  Verneuil  turned  pale,  but  the  miser  smiled.  He 
took  her  hand,  drew  her  under  the  mantel-board  of  the  chim- 
ney, and  saw  that  she  left  no  least  trace  of  her  passage  by 
leading  her  round  in  such  a  way  that  the  fire,  which  took  up 
but  a  little  space,  was  not  disturbed.  He  pressed  a  spring,  the 
sheet  of  cast-iron  rose ;  and  before  their  foes  came  back  into 
the  cellar,  the  heavy  door  of  their  hiding-place  had  slipped 
noiselessly  back  again.  Then  the  fair  Parisian  understood  the 
carp-like  struggles  which  had  been  made  by  the  luckless 
banker,  and  to  which  she  had  been  a  witness ;  then  she  under- 
stood the  object  of  Mille-Piche's  vain  search  in  the  kitchen. 

"You  see,  madame  !  "  cried  Marche-a-Terre.  "The  ghost 
has  taken  the  Blue  for  his  comrade." 

Great  must  their  alarm  have  been,  for  such  a  dead  cilence 
followed  his  words  that  d'Orgemont  and  his  companion  could 


214  THE   CHOUANS. 

hear  the  Chouans  muttering,  "  Ave,  sancta  Anna  Auric  a  gratia 
plena,  Doininus  tecum,'*  and  so  forth. 

*'The  simpletons  are  saying  their  prayers!"  exclaimed 
d'Orgemont. 

"Are  you  not  afraid,"  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  her  com- 
panion, **of  making  known  our  hiding-place?" 

The  old  miser's  laugh  dispelled  the  Parisian  girl's  fears. 

"  The  plate  is  set  in  a  slab  of  granite  ten  inches  thick.  We 
can  hear  them,  but  they  cannot  hear  us."  He  then  gently 
took  the  hand  of  his  deliverer,  and  led  her  towards  a  crevice 
through  which  the  fresh  breeze  came  in  whiffs ;  she  guessed 
that  this  opening  had  been  contrived  in  the  shaft  of  the 
chimney. 

"  Aha  !"  d'Orgemont  began  again.  "  The  devil !  My  legs 
smart  a  bit.  That  'Filly  of  Charette's,'  as  they  call  her  at 
Nantes,  is  not  such  a  fool  as  to  gainsay  those  faithful  believers 
of  hers.  She  knows  very  well  that  if  they  were  not  so  be- 
sotted, they  would  not  fight  against  their  own  interests.  There 
she  is  praying  along  with  them.  It  must  be  a  pretty  sight  to 
see  her  saying  her  Ave  to  St.  Anne  of  Auray  !  She  would  be 
better  employed  in  plundering  a  coach  so  as  to  pay  me  back 
those  four  thousand  francs  that  she  owes  me.  What  with  the 
costs  and  the  interest,  it  mounts  up  to  quite  four  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  forty-five  francs,  and  some  centimes  over." 

Their  prayer  ended,  the  Chouans  rose  from  their  knees  and 
went.  Old  d'Orgemont  squeezed  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  hand 
byway  of  apprising  her  that,  nevertheless,  danger  still  existed. 

■"'No,  madame,"  cried  Pille-Miche  after  a  pause  of  a  few 
minutes,  "  you  might  stop  here  for  ten  years.  They  will  not 
come  back." 

"  But  she  has  not  gone  out ;  she  must  be  here  !  "  persisted 
"Charette's  Filly." 

"  No,  no,  madame ;  they  have  flown  right  through  the 
walls.  Did  not  the  devil,  once  'before,  fly  away  from  here 
with  a  priest  who  had  taken  the  oath  under  our  eyes?  " 


A  DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  215 

"  You  are  a  miser  as  he  is,  Pille-Miche,  and  yet  you  cannot 
see  that  the  old  niggard  might  very  probably  spend  some 
thousands  of  livres  in  making  a  recess  in  the  foundations  of 
these  vaults,  with  a  secret  entrance  to  it." 

The  girl  and  the  miser  heard  the  guffaw  that  broke  from 
Pille-Miche.     "  Very  true  !  "  he  said. 

"Stop  here,"  Mme.  du  Gua  went  on.  "Lie  in  wait  for 
them  as  they  come  out.  For  one  single  shot,  I  will  give  you 
all  that  you  will  find  in  our  usurer's  treasury.  If  you  want 
me  to  pardon  you  for  selling  that  girl,  after  I  had  told  you  to 
kill  her,  you  must  obey  me." 

**  Usurer  !  "  said  old  d'Orgemont,  "  and  yet  I  only  charged 
her  nine  per  cent,  on  the  loan.  I  had  a  mortgage,  it  is  true, 
as  a  security.  But  now  you  see  how  grateful  she  is  !  Come, 
madame ;  if  God  punishes  us  for  doing  ill,  the  devil  is  here 
to  punish  us  for  doing  well;  and  man's  position  between 
these  two  extremities,  without  any  notion  of  what  the  future 
may  be,  always  looks,  to  my  thinking,  like  a  sum  in  propor- 
tion, wherein  the  value  of  x  is  undiscoverable. " 

He  heaved  a  hollow-sounding  sigh  which  was  peculiar  to 
him ;  for  his  breath  as  it  passed  through  his  larynx  seemed 
to  come  in  contact  with  and  to  strike  two  aged  and  relaxed 
vocal  chords.  The  sounds  made  by  Pille-Miche  and  Mme. 
du  Gua  as  they  tried  the  walls,  the  vaulted  roof,  and  the 
pavement  seemed  to  reassure  d'Orgemont;  he  took  his  deliv- 
erer's hand  to  help  her  to  climb  a  narrow  spiral  staircase, 
hollowed  in  the  thickness  of  the  granite  rock.  When  they 
had  come  up  a  score  of  steps  the  faint  glow  of  a  lamp 
lighted  up  their  faces.  The  miser  stopped  and  turned  to  his 
companion,  looking  closely  at  her  face  as  if  he  had  been 
gazing  upon  and  turning  over  and  over  some  doubtful  bill  to 
be  discounted.     He  heaved  his  terrible  sigh. 

"When  I  brought  you  here,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  I  completely  discharged  the  obligation  under  which 
you  laid  me ;  so  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  give " 


216  THE   CHOUANS.\ 

"  Leave  me  here,  sir ;  I  want  nothing  of  you,"  she  said. 

Her  last  words,  and  possibly  also  the  contempt  visible  in 
the  beautiful  face,  reassured  the  little  old  man,  for  he  went  on, 
after  a  fresh  sigh — 

**  Ah  !  when  I  brought  you  here,  I  did  too  much  not  to  go 
through  with  it " 

He  politely  helped  Marie  to  climb  some  steps,  arranged  in 
a  somewhat  peculiar  fashion,  and  brought  her,  half-willingly, 
half-reluctantly,  into  a  little  closet,  four  feet  square,  lighted 
by  a  lamp  that  hung  from  the  roof.  It  was  easy  to  see  that 
the  miser  had  made  every  preparation  for  spending  more  than 
one  day  in  this  retreat,  in  case  the  exigencies  of  civil  war 
compelled  him  to  make  some  stay  there. 

**  Don't  go  near  the  wall !  you  might  get  covered  with 
white  dust,"  d'Orgemont  exclaimed  suddenly,  as  he  thrust  his 
hand  hastily  between  the  girl's  shawl  and  the  wall,  which 
seemed  to  be  newly  whitewashed.  The  old  miser's  action 
produced  an  exactly  opposite  effect  to  the  one  intended. 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  looked  straight  in  front  of  her  at  once,  and 
saw  a  sort  of  construction  in  a  corner.  A  cry  of  terror  broke 
from  her  as  she  remarked  its  shape,  for  she  thought  that 
some  human  being  had  been  put  there  in  a  standing  position, 
and  had  been  covered  with  plaster.  D'Orgemont  made  a 
menacing  sign,  imposing  silence  upon  her,  and  his  own  little 
china-blue  eyes  showed  as  much  alarm  as  his  companion's. 

"  Foolish  girl !  "  cried  he;  "  did  you  think  I  had  murdered 
him?  That  is  my  brother,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  melan- 
choly change  in  his  sigh.  "  He  was  the  first  rector  to  take 
the  oath,  and  this  was  the  one  refuge  where  he  was  safe  from 
the  fury  of  the  Chouans  and  of  his  fellow-priests.  To  perse- 
cute such  a  well-regulated  man  as  that !  He  was  my  elder 
brother;  he  had  the  patience  to  teach  me  the  decimal  system, 
he  and  no  other.  Oh  !  he  was  a  worthy  priest !  He  was 
thrifty,  and  knew  how  to  save.  He  died  four  years  ago.  I 
do  not  know  what  his  disease  was ;  but  these  priests,  you  see, 


A  DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  217 

have  a  habit  of  kneeling  in  prayer  from  time  to  time,  and 
possibly  he  could  never  get  used  to  the  standing  porition  here, 
as  I  myself  have  done.  I  put  him  here  ;  otherwise  //^^j' would 
have  disinterred  him.  Some  day  I  may  be  able  to  bury  him 
in  consecrated  earth,  as  the  poor  fellow  used  to  say,  for  he 
only  took  the  oath  through  fear." 

A  tear  filled  the  hard  eyes  of  the  little  old  man.  His  red 
wig  looked  less  ugly  to  the  girl,  who  turned  her  own  eyes 
away  with  an  inward  feeling  of  reverence  for  his  sorrow ;  but 
notwithstanding  his  softened  mood,  d'Orgemont  spoke  again. 
"  Do  not  go  near  the  wall,  or  you " 

He  did  not  take  his  gaze  off  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  eyes,  for 
in  this  way  he  hoped  to  prevent  her  from  scrutinizing  the 
partition  walls  of  the  closet^  in  which  the  scanty  supply  of  air 
hardly  sufficed  for  the  requirements  of  breathing.  Yet  Marie 
managed  to  steal  a  glance  round  about  her,  undetected  by  her 
Argus,  and  from  the  peculiar  protuberances  in  the  walls  she 
inferred  that  the  miser  had  built  them  himself  out  of  bags  of 
gold  and  silver. 

In  another  moment,  d'Orgemont  was  seized  with  a  strange 
kind  of  ecstasy.  The  painful  smarting  sensation  in  his  legs, 
and  his  apprehensions  at  the  sight  of  a  human  being  among 
his  treasures,  were  plainly  to  be  seen  in  every  wrinkle  ;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  there  was  an  unaccustomed  glow  in  his  dry 
eyes ;  a  generous  emotion  was  aroused  in  him  by  the  danger- 
ous proximity  of  his  neighbor,  with  the  pink  and  white  cheeks 
that  invited  kisses,  and  the  dark  velvet-like  glances ;  so  that 
the  hot  blood  surged  to  his  heart  in  such  a  way  that  he  hardly 
knew  whether  it  betokened  life  or  death. 

"  Are  you  married  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"No,"  she  answered,  smiling. 

"I  have  a  little  property,"  he  said,  heaving  his  peculiar 
sigh,  "though  I  am  not  so  rich  as  they  all  say  I  am.  A 
young  girl  like  you  should  be  fond  of  diamonds,  jewelry,  car- 
riages, and  gold,"  he  added,  looking  about  him  in  a  dismayed 


218  THE   CHOUANS. 

fashion.  *'  I  have  all  these  things  to  give  you  at  my  death. 
And  if  you  liked " 

There  was  so  much  calculation  in  the  old  man's  eyes,  even 
while  this  fleeting  fancy  possessed  him,  that  while  she  shook 
her  head,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  not  help  thinking  that  the 
miser  had  thought  to  marry  her,  simply  that  he  might  bury  his 
secret  in  the  heart  of  a  second  self. 

"  Money  "  she  said,  with  an  ironical  glance  at  d'Orgemont 
that  left  him  half-pleased,  half- vexed,  "  money  is  nothing  to 
me.  If  all  the  gold  that  I  have  refused  were  here,  you  would 
be  three  times  richer  than  you  are." 

"Don't  go  near  the  wall " 

**  And  yet  nothing  was  asked  of  me  but  one  look,"  she 
went  on  with  indescribable  pride. 

"  You  were  wrong.  It  was  a  capital  piece  of  business. 
Just  think  of  it " 

"Think  that  I  have  just  heard  a  voice  sounding  here," 
broke  in  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  "  and  that  one  single  syllable  of 
it  has  more  value  for  me  than  all  your  riches." 

"  You  do  not  know  how  much " 

Before  the  miser  could  prevent  her,  Marie  moved  with  her 
finger  a  little  colored  print,  representing  Louis  XV.  on  horse- 
back, and  suddenly  saw  the  Marquis  beneath  her,  engaged  in 
loading  a  blunderbus.  The  opening  concealed  by  the  tiny 
panel,  over  which  the  print  was  pasted,  apparently  corre- 
sponded with  some  ornamental  carving  on  the  ceiling  of  the 
next  room,  where  the  Royalist  general  had  no  doubt  been 
sleeping.  D'Orgemont  slid  the  old  print  back  again  with 
extreme  heedfulness,  and  looked  sternly  at  the  young  girl. 

*'  Do  not  speak  a  word,  if  you  value  your  life  !  It  is  no 
cockle-shell  that  you  have  grappled,"  he  whispered  in  her 
ear,  after  a  pause.  "  Do  you  know  that  the  Marquis  of 
Montauran  draws  a  revenue  of  more  than  a  hundred  thousand 
livres  from  the  rents  of  estates  which  have  not  yet  been  sold  ? 
And  the  consuls  have  just  issued  a  decree  putting  a  stop  to  the 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  219 

sequestrations.  I  saw  it  in  the  paper,  in  the  *  Primidi  de 
rille-et-Vilaine.'  Aha  !  the  Gars  there  is  a  prettier  man  now, 
is  he  not?     Your  eyes  are  sparkling  like  two  new  louis  d'ors." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil's  glances  had  become  exceedingly  ani- 
mated when  she  heard  afresh  the  sounds  of  the  voice  that  she 
knew  so  well.  Since  she  had  been  standing  there,  buried  as 
it  were  in  a  mine  of  wealth,  her  mind,  which  had  been  over- 
whelmed by  these  occurrences,  regained  its  elasticity.  She 
seemed  to  have  made  a  sinister  resolve,  and  to  have  some  idea 
of  the  method  of  carrying  it  out. 

**  There  is  no  recovering  from  such  contempt  as  that,"  she 
said  to  herself;  **  and  if  he.  is  to  love  me  no  more,  I  will  kill 
him  !     No  other  woman  shall  have  him  !  " 

"No,  Abbe,  no!"  cried  the  young  chief,  whose  voice 
made  itself  heard ;  "it  must  be  so." 

"  My  Lord  Marquis,"  the  Abbe  Gudin  remonstrated  stiffly, 
"you  will  scandalize  all  Brittany  by  giving  this  ball  at  Saint 
James.  Our  villages  are  not  stirred  up  by  dancers,  but  by 
preachers.     Have  some  small  arms,  and  not  fiddles." 

"  Abbe,  you  are  clever  enough  to  know  that  only  in  a  gen- 
eral assembly  of  all  our  partisans  can  I  see  what  I  can  under- 
take with  them.  A  dinner  seems  to  give  a  better  opportunity 
of  scrutinizing  their  countenances,  and  of  understanding  their 
intentions,  than  any  possible  espionage,  which  is  moreover 
abhorrent  to  me.     We  will  make  them  talk,  glass  in  hand." 

Marie  trembled  when  she  heard  these  words,  for  the  idea 
of  going  to  the  ball,  and  of  there  avenging  herself,  occurred 
to  her. 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  an  idiot,  with  your  sermon  against 
dancing?"  Montauran  went  on.  "Would  not  you  yourself 
figure  in  a  chaconne  very  willingly  to  find  yourself  re-estab- 
lished under  your  new  name  of  *  Fathers  of  the  Faith.'  Do 
you  really  not  know  that  Bretons  get  up  from  mass  to  have  a 
dance  ?  Do  you  really  not  know  that  Messieurs  Hyde,  de 
Neuville  and  d' Andign6  had  a  conference  with  the  First  Con- 


220  THE   CHOUANS. 

sul,  five  days  ago,  over  the  question  of  restoring  his  majesty, 
Louis  XVIII.?  If  I  am  preparing  at  this  moment  to  venture 
so  rash  a  stroke,  it  is  only  to  make  the  weight  of  our  iron- 
bound  shoes  felt  in  these  deliberations.  Do  you  not  know 
that  all  the  chiefs  in  La  Vendee,  even  Fontaine  himself,  are 
talking  of  submission  ?  Ah  !  sir,  the  princes  have  clearly 
been  misled  as  to  the  condition  of  things  in  France.  The 
devotion  which  people  tell  them  about  is  the  devotion  of 
place-men,  Abb6,  if  I  have  dipped  my  feet  in  blood,  I  will 
not  wade  waist-deep  in  it  without  knowing  wherefore.  My 
devotion  is  for  the  King,  and  not  for  four  crack-brained 
enthusiasts,  for  men  overwhelmed  with  debt  like  Rifoel,  for 
chauffers  and " 

"Say  it  straight  out,  sir,  for  abb^s  who  collect  imposts  on 
the  highways  so  as  to  carry  on  the  war  !  "  interrupted  the 
Abb6  Gudin. 

"Why  should  I  not  say  it  ?  "  the  Marquis  answered  tartly. 
"  I  will  say  more — the  heroic  age  of  La  Vendee  is  past." 

"My  Lord  Marquis,  we  shall  know  how  to  work  miracles 
without  your  aid." 

"Yes,  like  the  miracle  in  Marie  Lambrequin's  case,"  the 
Marquis  answered,  smiling.  "  Come,  now.  Abbe,  let  us  have 
done  with  it.  I  know  that  you  yourself  do  not  shrink  from 
danger,  and  you  bring  down  a  '  Blue '  or  say  your  *  oremus ' 
equally  well.  God  helping  me,  I  hope  to  make  you  take  a 
part  in  the  coronation  of  the  King  with  a  mitre  on  your 
head." 

This  last  phrase  certainly  had  a  magical  effect  upon  the 
Abb6,  for  there  sounded  the  ring  of  a  rifle,  and  he  cried — 

"I  have  fifty  cartridges  in  my  pockets,  my  Lord  Marquis, 
and  my  life  is  at  the  King's  service." 

"  That  is  another  debtor  of  mine,"  the  miser  said  to  Mile. 
deVerneuil.  "  I  am  not  speaking  of  a  paltry  five  or  six  hundred 
crowns  which  he  borrowed  of  me,  but  of  a  debt  of  blood, 
which  I  hope  will  be  paid  in  full.     The  fiendish  Jesuit  will 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MO  A' ROW.  221 

never  have  as  much  evil  befall  him  as  I  wish  him ;  he  swore 
that  my  brother  should  die,  and  stirred  up  the  district  against 
him.  And  why  ?  Because  the  poor  man  had  been  afraid  of 
the  new  laws  !  " 

He  put  his  ear  to  a  particular  spot  in  his  hiding-place. 
"All  the  brigands  are  making  off,"  he  said.  "They  are 
going  to  work  some  other  miracle.  If  only  they  do  not 
attempt  to  set  fire  to  the  house,  as  they  did  last  time,  by  way 
of  a  good-bye  !  " 

For  another  half-hour  or  thereabouts  Mile,  de  Verneuil  and 
d'Orgemont  looked  at  each  other,  as  each  of  them  might 
have  gazed  at  a  picture.  Then  the  gruff,  coarse  voice  of 
Galope-Chopine  called  in  a  low  tone,  "There  is  no  more 
danger  now,  M.  d'Orgemont.  My  thirty  crowns  have  been 
well  earned  this  time  !  " 

"My  child,"  said  the  miser,  "swear  to  me  that  you  will 
shut  your  eyes." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  laid  one  of  her  hands  over  her  eyelids ; 
but  for  greater  security,  the  old  man  blew  out  the  lamp,  took 
his  deliverer  by  the  hand,  and  assisted  her  to  descend  seven  or 
eight  steps  in  an  awkward  passage.  After  a  few  minutes,  he 
gently  drew  down  her  hand,  and  she  saw  that  she  was  in  the 
miser's  own  room,  which  the  Marquis  of  Montauran  had  just 
vacated. 

"You  can  go  now,  my  dear  child,"  said  the  miser.  "Do 
not  look  about  you  in  that  way.  You  have  no  money,  of 
course.  See,  here  are  ten  crowns  ;  clipped  ones,  but  still  they 
will  pass.  When  you  are  out  of  the  garden,  you  will  find  a 
footpath  which  leads  to  the  town,  or  the  district,  as  they  call 
it  nowadays.  But  as  the  Chouans  are  at  Fougeres,  it  is  not 
to  be  supposed  that  you  could  return  thither  at  once;  so  you 
may  stand  in  need  of  a  safe  asylum.  Do  not  forget  what  I 
am  going  to  tell  you,  and  only  take  advantage  of  it  in  dire 
necessity.  You  will  see  a  farmhouse  beside  the  road  which 
runs  through  the  dale  of  Gibarry  to  the  Nid-aux-Crocs.     Big 


2212  THE   C HO  VANS. 

Cibot  (called  Galope-Chopine)  lives  there.  Go  inside,  and 
say  to  his  wife,  *  Good-day,  B6caniere  ! '  and  Barbette  will 
hide  you.  If  Galope-Chopine  should  find  you  out,  he  will 
take  you  for  a  ghost,  if  it  is  night ;  and  if  it  is  broad  daylight, 
ten  crowns  will  mollify  him.  Good-bye  !  Our  accounts  are 
squared.  If  you  liked,"  he  added,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand, 
that  indicated  the  fields  that  lay  round  about  his  house,  **  all 
that  should  be  yours  !  " 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  gave  a  grateful  glance  at  this  strange 
being,  and  succeeded  in  wringing  a  'sigh  from  him,  with 
several  distinct  tones  in  it. 

"You  will  pay  me  back  my  ten  crowns,  of  course  ;  I  say 
nothing  about  interest,  as  you  note.  You  can  pay  them  to 
the  credit  of  my  account,  to  Master  Patrat,  the  notary  in 
Fougeres,  who,  if  you  should  wish  it,  would  draw  up  our 
marriage  contract.     Fair  treasure  !     Good-bye." 

**  Good-bye,"  said  she,  with  a  smile,  as  she  waved  her 
hand  to  him. 

*'  If  you  require  any  money,"  he  called  to  her,  **  I  will  lend 
it  to  you  at  five  per  cent. !  Yes,  only  five.  Did  I  say  five?" 
But  she  had  gone. 

"She  looks  to  me  like  a  good  sort  of  girl,"  d'Orgemont 
continued  ;  "  but  for  all  that,  I  shall  make  a  change  in  the 
secret  contrivance  in  my  chimney." 

Then  he  took  a  loaf  that  weighed  twelve  pounds,  and  a 
ham,  and  returned  to  his  hiding-place. 

As  Mile,  de  Verneuil  walked  in  the  open  country,  she  felt 
as  though  life  had  begun  anew.  The  chilly  morning  air 
against  her  face  revived  her,  after  so  many  hours  during 
which  she  had  encountered  a  close  atmosphere.  She  tried  to 
find  the  footpath  that  the  miser  had  described  ',  but  after  the 
setting  of  the  moon,  the  darkness  grew  so  dense,  that  she  was 
compelled  to  go  as  chance  determined.  Very  soon  the  dread 
of  falling  over  a  precipice  took  possession  of  her,  and  this 
saved  her  life,  for  she  suddenly  stopped  with  a  presentiment 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A    MORROW.  223 

that  if  she  went  a  step  further  she  should  find  no  earth 
beneath  her  feet.  A  breath  of  yet  colder  wind  which  played 
in  her  hair,  the  murmur  of  streams,  and  her  own  instinct,  told 
her  that  she  had  come  to  the  brink  of  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice. 
She  cast  her  arms  about  a  tree,  and  waited  in  keen  anxiety 
for  the  dawn,  for  she  heard  sounds  of  armed  men,  human 
voices,  and  the  trampling  of  horses.  She  felt  thankful  to  the 
darkness  which  was  preserving  her  from  the  peril  of  falling 
into  the  hands  of  the  Chouans,  if,  as  the  miser  had  told  her, 
they  were  surrounding  Fougeres. 

A  faint  purple  light,  like  the  beacon-fires  lighted  at  night 
as  the  signal  of  Liberty,  passed  over  the  mountain-tops ;  but 
the  lower  slopes  retained  their  cold  bluish  tints  in  contrast 
with  the  dewy  mists  that  drifted  over  the  valleys.  Very  soon 
a  disc  of  ruby  red  rose  slowly  on  the  horizon,  the  skies  felt 
its  influence,  the  ups  and  downs  of  the  landscape,  the  spire  of 
St.  Leonard's  church,  the  crags  and  the  meadows  hidden  in 
deep  shadow  gradually  began  to  appear,  the  trees  perched 
upon  the  heights  stood  out  against  the  fires  of  dawn.  With  a 
sudden  gracious  start  the  sun  unwound  himself  from  the 
streamers  of  fiery  red,  of  yellow  and  sapphire,  that  surrounded 
him.  The  brilliant  light  united  one  sloping  hillside  to  another 
by  its  level  beams,  and  overflowed  valley  after  valley.  The 
shadows  fled  away,  and  all  nature  was  overwhelmed  with  day- 
light. The  air  trembled  with  a  fresh  breeze,  the  birds  sang, 
and  everything  awoke  to  life  again. 

But  the  young  girl  had  barely  had  sufficient  time  to  look 
down  over  the  main  features  of  this  wonderful  landscape, 
when  by  a  frequently  recurring  phenomenon  in  these  cool 
parts  of  the  world  the  mists  arose  and  spread  themselves  in 
sheets,  filling  the  valleys,  and  creeping  up  the  slopes  of  the 
highest  hills,  concealing  this  fertile  basin  under  a  cloak-like 
snow.  Very  soon  Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  have  believed  that 
she  beheld  a  view  of  a  mer  de  glace,  such  as  the  Alps  furnish. 
Then  this  atmosphere  of  cloud  surged  like  the  waves  of  the 


224  THE   CHObANS. 

sea,  flinging  up  opaque  billows  which  softly  poised  themselves, 
swayed  or  eddied  violently,  caught  bright  rosy  hues  from  the 
shafts  of  sunlight,  or  showed  themselves  translucent  here  and 
there  as  a  lake  of  liquid  silver.  Suddenly  the  north  wind 
blew  upon  this  phantasmagoria,  and  dispelled  the  mists,  which 
left  a  rusty  dew  on  the  sward. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  then  see  a  huge  brown  patch, 
situated  on  the  rocks  of  Fougeres — seven  or  eight  hundred 
armed  Chouans  were  hurrying  about  in  the  suburb  of  St.  Sul- 
pice,  like  ants  on  an  ant-hill.  The  immediate  neighborhood 
of  the  castle  was  being  furiously  attacked  by  three  thousand 
men  who  were  stationed  tliere,  and  who  seemed  to  have 
sprung  up  by  magic.  The  sleeping  town  would  have  yielded, 
despite  its  venerable  ramparts  and  hoary  old  towers,  if  Hulot 
had  not  been  on  the  watch.  A  concealed  battery  on  a  height, 
in  the  midst  of  the  hollow  basin  formed  by  the  ramparts, 
answered  the  Chouans'  first  volley,  taking  them  in  flank  upon 
the  road  that  led  to  the  castle.  The  grape-shot  cleared  the 
road  and  swept  it  clean.  Then  a  company  made  a  sortie  from 
the  St.  Sulpice  gate,  took  advantage  of  the  Chouans*  surprise, 
drew  themselves  up  upon  the  road,  and  opened  a  deadly  fire 
upon  them.  The  Chouans  did  not  attempt  to  resist  when 
they  saw  the  ramparts  covered  with  soldiers,  as  if  the  art  of 
the  engineer  had  suddenly  traced  blue  lines  about  them, 
while  the  fire  from  the  fortress  covered  that  of  the  Republican 
sharp-shooters. 

Other  Chouans,  however,  had  made  themselves  masters  of 
the  little  valley  of  the  Nan^on,  had  climbed  the  rocky  gal- 
leries, and  reached  the  promenade,  to  which  they  mounted 
till  it  was  covered  with  goatskins,  which  made  it  look  like  the 
time-embrowned  thatch  of  a  hovel.  Loud  reports  were  heard 
at  that  very  moment  from  the  quarter  of  the  town  that  over- 
looks the  Couesnon  valley.  Fougeres  was  clearly  surrounded, 
and  attacked  at  all  points.  A  fire  which  showed  itself  on  the 
eastern  side  of  the  rock  showed  that  the  Chouans  were  even 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  225 

burning  the  suburbs ;  but  the  flakes  of  fire  that  sprang  up 
from  the  shingle  roofs  or  the  broom  thatch  soon  ceased,  and 
a  few  columns  of  dark  smoke  showed  that  the  conflagration 
was  extinguished. 

Black  and  brown  clouds  once  more  hid  the  scene  from  Mile. 
de  Verneuil,  but  the  wind  soon  cleared  away  the  smoke  of  the 
powder.  The  Republican  commandant  had  already  changed 
the  direction  of  his  guns,  so  that  they  could  bear  successively 
upon  the  length  of  the  valley  of  the  Nangon,  upon  the  Queen's 
Staircase,  and  the  rock  itself,  when  from  the  highest  point  of 
the  promenade  he  had  seen  his  first  orders  admirably  carried 
out.  Two  guns  by  the  guard-house  of  St.  Leonard's  gate 
were  mowing  down  the  ant-like  swarms  of  Chouans  who  had 
seized  that  position,  while  the  National  Guard  of  Fougeres, 
precipitating  themselves  into  the  square  by  the  church,  were 
completing  the  defeat  of  the  enemy.  The  affair  did  not  last 
half  an  hour,  and  did  not  cost  the  Blues  a  hundred  men. 
The  Chouans,  discomfited  and  defeated,  were  drawing  off 
already  in  all  directions,  in  obedience  to  repeated  orders  from 
the  Gars,  whose  bold  stroke  had  come  to  nothing  (though  he 
did  not  know  this)  in  consequence  of  the  affair  at  the  Vive- 
tiere,  which  had  brought  back  Hulot,  in  secret,  to  Fougeres. 
The  artillery  had  only  arrived  there  during  this  very  night ; 
for  the  mere  rumor  that  ammunition  was  being  transported 
thither  would  have  sufficed  to  make  Montauran  desist  from 
an  enterprise,  which,  if  undertaken,  could  only  have  a  disas- 
trous result. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Hulot  had  as  much  desire  to  give  a 
severe  lesson  to  the  Gars  as  the  Gars  could  have  had  to  gain  a 
success,  in  the  moment  he  had  selected,  to  influence  the  de- 
terminations of  the  First  Consul.  At  the  first  cannon-shot 
the  Marquis  knew  that  it  would  be  madness  to  carry  this  fail- 
ure of  a  surprise  any  further  from  motives  of  vanity.  So,  to 
prevent  a  useless  slaughter  of  his  Chouans,  he  hastened  to 
send  out  seven  or  eight  messengers  bearing  orders  to  operate 
15 


226  THE  CHOUANS. 

a  prompt  retreat  at  every  point.  The  commandant,  seeing 
his  antagonist  with  a  number  of  advisers  about  him,  of  whom 
Mme.  de  Gua  was  one,  tried  to  send  a  volley  over  to  them 
upon  the  rocke  of  St.  Sulpice,  but  the  place  had  been  selected 
too  cleverly  for  the  young  chief  not  to  be  in  security.  Hulot 
changed  his  tactics  all  at  once  from  the  defensive  to  the  ag- 
gressive. At  the  first  movements  which  revealed  the  intentions 
of  the  Marquis,  the  company  which  was  posted  beneath  the 
walls  of  the  castle,  set  themselves  to  work  to  cut  off  the 
Chouans'  retreat  by  seizing  the  outlets  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  Nan9on  valley. 

In  spite  of  her  animosity,  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  sympathies 
were  with  the  side  on  which  her  lover  commanded.  She 
turned  quickly  to  see  if  the  passage  was  free  at  the  lower  end. 
But  she  saw  the  Blues,  who  had  no  doubt  been  victorious  on 
the  other  side  of  Fougeres,  returning  from  the  Couesnon  valley, 
through  the  dale  of  Gibarry,  so  as  to  seize  the  Nid-aux-Crocs, 
and  that  portion  of  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice  where  the  lower 
exits  from  the  Nangon  valley  were  situated.  The  Chouans, 
thus  shut  up  in  the  narrow  space  of  meadow  at  the  bottom  of 
the  ravine,  seemed  certain  to  be  cut  off  to  a  man  ;  so  accu- 
rately had  the  old  Republican  commandant  foreseen  the  event, 
and  so  skilfully  had  he  laid  his  plans.  But  the  cannons,  which 
had  done  Hulot  such  good  service,  were  powerless  upon  either 
point.  A  desperate  struggle  began,  and  the  town  of  Fourgeres 
once  safe,  the  affair  assumed  the  character  of  an  engagement 
to  which  the  Chouans  were  accustomed. 

Then  Mile,  de  Verneuil  understood  the  presence  of  the 
large  bodies  of  men  which  she  had  come  upon  in  the  open 
country,  the  meeting  of  the  chiefs  in  d'Orgemont's  house, 
and  all  the  occurrences  of  the  previous  night,  and  was  unable 
to  account  for  her  escape  from  so  many  perils.  This  enter- 
prise, suggested  by  despair,  had  so  keen  an  interest  for  her, 
that  she  stood  motionless,  watching  the  moving  pictures  that 
spread  themselves  beneath  her  eyes.     The  fighting  that  went 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  221 

on  at  the  foot  of  the  hills  of  St.  Sulpice  soon  had  yet  another 
interest  for  her.  When  the  Marquis  and  his  friends  saw  that 
the  Chouans  were  almost  at  the  mercy  of  the  Blues,  they 
rushed  to  their  assistance  down  the  Nangon  valley.  The  foot 
of  the  crags  was  covered  with  a  crowd,  composed  of  furious 
groups  who  were  fighting  out  the  issues  of  life  and  death — 
both  the  weapons  and  the  ground  being  in  favor  of  the  goat- 
skins. Imperceptibly  the  shifting  battlefield  expanded  its 
limits.  The  Chouans  scattered  themselves  and  gained  posses- 
sion of  the  rocks,  thanks  to  the  help  of  the  shrubs  which  grew 
here  and  there.  A  little  later  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  startled  by 
the  sight  of  her  foes  once  more  upon  the  summits,  where  they 
strenuously  defended  the  perilous  footpaths  by  which  they  had 
come. 

As  every  passage  on  the  hill  was  now  in  the  possession  of  one 
side  or  the  other,  she  was  afraid  of  finding  herself  in  among 
them.  She  left  the  great  tree  behind  which  she  had  been 
standing,  and  took  to  flight,  meaning  to  take  advantage  of 
the  old  miser's  advice.  After  she  had  hastened  for  some 
time  along  the  slope  of  the  hills  of  St.  Sulpice  which  over- 
looks the  main  valley  of  the  Cou5snon,  she  saw  a  cow-shed  in 
the  distance,  and  concluded  that  it  must  be  one  of  the  out- 
buildings about  Galope-Chopine's  house,  and  that  he  must 
have  left  his  wife  by  herself  while  the  fighting  went  forward. 
Encouraged  by  these  conjectures.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  hoped  to 
be  well  received  in  the  dwelling,  and  to  be  allowed  to  spend 
a  few  hours  there,  until  it  should  be  possible  to  return  to 
Fougeres  without  danger.  To  all  appearance,  Hulot  would 
gain  the  day.  The  Chouans  were  flying  rapidly,  so  that  she 
heard  gunshots  all  about  her,  and  the  fear  of  being  struck  by 
a  stray  ball  led  her  to  reach  the  cottage,  whose  chimney  served 
as  a  landmark,  without  delay.  The  path  which  she  followed 
led  to  a  sort  of  cart-shed.  Its  roof,  thatched  with  broom, 
was  supported  by  the  trunks  of  four  great  trees  which  still 
retained  their  bark.     There  was  a  wall  of  daub  and  wattle  at 


228  THE   CHOUANS. 

the  back  of  it.  In  the  shed  itself  there  was  a  cider-press,  a 
threshing-floor  for  buckwheat,  and  some  plowing  apparatus. 
She  stopped  short  beside  one  of  the  posts,  hesitating  to  cross 
the  miry  swamp,  that  did  duty  for  a  yard  before  this  house, 
which  afar  off,  she,  like  a  true  Parisian,  had  taken  for  a  cow- 
shed. 

The  cabin,  sheltered  from  the  blasts  of  the  north  wind  by 
a  knoll  that  rose  above  its  roof,  and  against  which  it  was  built, 
was  not  destitute  of  a  certain  poetry  of  its  own,  for  saplings 
and  heather  and  rock  flowers  hung  in  wreaths  and  garlands 
about  it.  A  rustic  staircase  contrived  between  the  shed  and 
the  house  allowed  its  inmates  to  ascend  the  heights  of  the 
knoll  to  breathe  the  fresh  air.  To  the  left  of  the  cabin  the 
knoll  fell  away  abruptly,  so  that  a  succession  of  fields  was 
visible,  the  first  of  which  belonged  in  all  probability  to  this 
farm.  A  border  of  fine  copse-wood  ran  round  these  fields, 
which  were  separated  by  banks  of  earth,  upon  which  trees  had 
been  planted.  The  nearest  field  completely  surrounded  the 
yard.  The  way  thither  was  closed  by  the  huge  half-rotten 
trunk  of  a  tree,  a  barrier  peculiar  to  Brittany,  called  by  a 
name,  which  later  on  will  furnish  a  final  digression  on  the  char- 
acteristics of  the  country.  Between  the  staircase  that  had 
been  cut  in  the  rock,  and  the  track  which  was  closed  by  the 
great  log,  and  beneath  the  overhanging  rocks  stood  the 
cottage,  with  the  swamp  before  it.  The  four  corners  of  the 
hovel  were  built  of  roughly  hewn  blocks  of  granite,  laid  one 
over  another,  thus  maintaining  the  wretched  walls  in  position. 
These  were  built  up  of  a  mixture  of  earthen  bricks,  beams  of 
wood,  and  flintstones.  Half  of  the  roof  was  covered  with 
broom,  in  the  place  of  straw  thatch,  and  the  other  half  with 
shingles,  or  narrow  boards  cut  in  the  shape  of  roofing  slates, 
showing  that  the  house  consisted  of  two  parts ;  and,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  one  part,  divided  off"  by  a  crazy  hurdle,  served 
as  a  byre,  while  the  owners  lived  in  the  other  division. 

Owing  to  the  near  vicinity  of  the  town,  there  were  im- 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   AWRROW.  229 

provements  about  this  cabin  which  would  be  completely 
lacking  anywhere  two  leagues  further  away ;  and  yet  it 
showed  very  plainly  the  insecure  condition  of  life  to  which 
wars  and  feudal  customs  had  so  rigorously  subjected  the 
habits  of  the  serf,  that  even  to-day  many  of  the  peasants 
in  these  parts  still  call  the  chateau  in  which  their  landlords 
dwell   "  the  house." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  studied  the  place  with  an  amazement 
that  can  readily  be  imagined,  and  at  last  she  noticed  a 
broken  block  of  granite  here  and  there  in  the  mire  of  the 
yard,  arranged  to  afford  a  method  of  access  to  the  dwell- 
ing, not  unattended  with  danger.  But,  hearing  the  sounds 
of  musketry  drawing  appreciably  nearer,  she  sprang  from 
stone  to  stone,  as  if  she  were  crossing  a  river,  to  ask  for  shel- 
ter. Entrance  to  the  house  was  barred  by  one  of  those  doors 
that  are  made  in  two  separate  pieces ;  the  lower  part  being  of 
solid  and  substantial  timber,  while  the  upper  portion  was  pro- 
tected by  a  shutter,  which  served  as  a  window.  Shop-doors 
in  certain  little  towns  in  France  are  often  made  on  this  model, 
but  they  are  much  more  elaborate,  and  the  lower  portion  is 
supplied  with  an  alarm  bell.  The  lower  half  of  this  particu- 
lar door  was  opened  by  unfastening  a  wooden  latchet  worthy 
of  the  golden  age,  while  the  upper  part  was  only  closed  during 
the  night,  since  the  daylight  entered  the  room  through  no 
other  opening.  A  rough  sort  of  window  certainly  existed, 
but  the  panes  were  like  bottle  ends,  and  the  massive  leaden 
frames  which  supported  them  took  up  so  much  room  that  the 
window  seemed  to  be  intended  rather  to  intercept  the  light 
than  to  afford  a  passage  to  it. 

As  soon  as  Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  made  the  door  turn  on  its 
creaking  hinges,  she  encountered  an  alarming  ammoniacal 
odor  which  issued  in  whiffs  from  the  cottage,  and  saw  how 
the  cattle  had  kicked  to  pieces  the  partition  wall  that  divided 
them  from  the  house-place.  So  the  inside  of  the  farmhouse 
(for  such  it  was)  was  quite  in  keeping  with  the  outside.     Mile. 


230  THE   CHOUANS. 

de  Verneuil  was  asking  herself  how  it  was  possible  that  human 
beings  should  live  in  such  confirmed  squalor,  when  a  tiny- 
ragged  urchin,  who  seemed  to  be  about  eight  or  nine  years 
old,  suddenly  showed  a  fresh  pink  and  white  face,  plump 
cheeks,  bright  eyes,  ivory  teeth,  and  fair  hair  that  fell  in 
tangled  locks  over  his  half-naked  shoulders.  His  limbs  were 
sturdy,  and  in  his  attitude  there  was  the  charm  of  wonder, 
and  the  wild  simplicity  that  makes  a  child's  eyes  grow  larger. 
The  little  lad's  beauty  was  of  the  heroic  order. 

"Where  is  your  mother?  "  said  Marie  in  a  gentle  tone,  as 
she  stooped  down  to  kiss  his  eyes. 

After  receiving  the  kiss,  the  child  slipped  away  like  an  eel 
and  disappeared  behind  a  manure  heap  which  lay  between  the 
path  and  the  house,  upon  the  slope  of  the  knoll.  Galope- 
Chopine  was  wont,  like  many  other  Breton  farmers  (who  have 
a  system  of  agriculture  peculiar  to  them),  to  pile  manure  in 
high  situations,  so  that  by  the  time  they  come  to  use  it,  the 
rain  has  washed  all  the  goodness  out  of  it. 

Marie,  being  left  in  possession  of  the  cabin  for  some  min- 
utes, quickly  made  an  inventory  of  its  contents.  The  whole 
house  consisted  of  the  one  room  in  which  she  was  waiting  for 
Barbette.  The  most  conspicuous  and  pretentious  object  was 
a  vast  fireplace,  the  mantelpiece  being  made  out  of  a  single 
slab  of  blue  granite.  The  etymology  of  the  word  "  mantel- 
piece "  was  made  apparent  by  a  scrap  of  green  serge,  bor- 
dered with  pale-green  ribbon,  and  scalloped  at  the  edges, 
which  was  hanging  along  the  slab,  in  the  midst  of  which 
stood  a  colored  plaster  cast  of  the  Virgin.  On  the  base  of 
the  statuette.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  read  a  couple  of  lines  of  re- 
ligious poetry  which  are  very  widely  popular  in  the  district : 

"  Protectress  of  this  place  am  I, 
The  Mother  of  God  who  dwells  on  high." 

Behind  the  Virgin  there  was  a  frightful  picture  splashed 
over  with  red  and  blue,  a  pretence  of  a  painting  that  repre- 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  231 

sented  St.  Labre.  A  bed  covered  with  green  serge,  of  the 
kind  called  tomb-shaped,  a  clumsy  cradle,  a  wheel,  some 
rough  chairs,  and  a  carved  dresser,  fitted  up  with  a  few  uten- 
sils, almost  completed  the  list  of  Galope-Chopine's  furniture. 
Before  the  window  there  was  a  long  table  and  a  couple  of 
benches  made  of  chestnut  wood ;  the  light  that  fell  through 
the  panes  of  glass  gave  them  the  deep  hues  of  old  mahogany. 
Beneath  the  bung-hole  of  a  great  hogshead  of  cider  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  noticed  a  patch  of  moist  yellowish  thick  deposit. 
The  dampness  was  corroding  the  floor,  although  it  was  made 
of  blocks  of  granite  set  in  red  clay,  and  [proved  that  the 
master  of  the  abode  had  come  honestly  by  his  Chouan  nick- 
name.* 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  raised  her  eyes  to  avoid  this  sight,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  forthwith  that  she  had  seen  all  the  bats  in  the 
world — so  numerous  were  the  spiders'  webs  that  hung  from  the 
beams.  Two  huge  pitchers,  filled  with  cider,  were  standing 
on  the  long  table.  These  utensils  are  a  sort  of  brown  earthen- 
ware jug  of  a  pattern  which  is  still  in  use  in  several  dis- 
tricts in  France,  and  which  a  Parisian  can  imagine  for  himself 
by  thinking  of  the  pots  in  which  epicures  serve  Brittany 
butter;  but  the  body  of  the  jug  is  rounder,  the  glaze  is 
unevenly  distributed,  and  shaded  over  with  brown  splashes, 
like  certain  shells.  The  pitcher  ends  in  a  mouth  of  a  kind 
not  unlike  the  head  of  a  frog  thrust  out  above  the  water  to 
take  the  air.  The  two  pitchers  had  attracted  Marie's  atten- 
tion last  of  all ;  but  the  sound  of  the  fight  grew  more  and 
more  distinct,  and  compelled  her  to  look  about  for  a  suit- 
able hiding-place  without  waiting  for  Barbette,  when  the 
latter  suddenly  appeared. 

"Good-day,  B^caniere,"  she  said,  repressing  an  involun- 
tary smile  at  the  sight  of  a  face  that  rather  resembled  the 
heads  which  architects  set,  by  way  of  ornament,  in  the  centres 
of  window  arches. 

*  Galope-Chopine,  literally,  Toss-pot.     Translator's  ^note. 


282  THE   CHOUANS. 

"Aha!  you  come  from  d'Orgemont,"  answered  Barbette 
with  no  particular  eagerness. 

*'  Where  will  you  put  me?     For  the  Chouans  are  here " 

**  There  !  "  said  Barbette,  as  much  at  a  loss  at  the  sight  of 
the  beauty  as  well  as  of  the  eccentric  attire  of  a  being  whom 
she  did  not  venture  to  include  among  her  own  sex.  "  There  ! 
In  the  priest's  hole  !  " 

She  took  her  to  the  head  of  the  bed,  and  put  her  between 
it  and  the  wall  \  but  both  of  them  were  thunder-struck  just 
then,  for  they  thought  they  could  hear  strange  footsteps  hurry- 
ing through  the  swamp.  Barbette  had  scarcely  time  to  draw 
one  of  the  bed-curtains  and  to  huddle  Marie  in  it  before  she 
found  herself  face  to  face  with  a  fugitive  Chouan. 

**  Good- wife,  where  can  one  hide  here?  I  am  the  Comte 
de  Bauvan." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  trembled  as  she  recognized  the  voice  of 
the  dinner-guest,  who  had  spoken  the  few  words  (still  a  mys- 
tery for  her)  which  had  brought  about  the  catastrophe  at  the 
Viveti^re. 

"Alas  !  monseigneur,  you  see  there  is  nothing  here  !  The 
best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  go ;  but  I  will  watch,  and  if  the 
Blues  are  coming  I  will  give  you  warning.  If  I  were  to  stop 
here,  and  they  found  me  with  you,  they  would  burn  my  house 
down." 

So  Barbette  went  out,  for  she  had  not  wit  enough  to  recon- 
cile the  opposing  claims  of  two  foes,  each  of  whom  had 
an  equal  right  to  the  hiding-place,  by  virtue  of  the  double 
part  her  husband  was  playing. 

"I  have  two  shots  to  fire,"  said  the  Count  despairingly, 
"  but  they  have  gone  past  me  already.  Pshaw  !  I  should  be 
unlucky,  indeed,  if  the  fancy  were  to  take  them  to  look  under 
the  bed  as  they  come  back. 

He  gently  leaned  his  gun  against  the  bed-post,  beside 
which  Marie  stood  wrapped  about  with  the  green  serge  cur- 
tain.    Then  he  stooped  down  to  make  quite  sure  that  he  could 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  233 

creep  under  the  bed.  He  could  not  have  failed  to  see  the 
feet  of  the  other  refugee,  who  in  the  desperation  of  the 
moment  snatched  up  his  gun,  sprang  quickly  out  into  the 
room,  and  threatened  the  Count  with  it.  A  peal  of  laughter 
broke  from  him,  however,  as  he  recognized  her;  for,  in  order 
to  hide  herself,  Marie  had  taken  off  her  enormous  Chouan 
hat,  and  thick  locks  of  her  hair  were  escaping  from  beneath  a 
sort  of  net  of  lace. 

"  Do  not  laugh.  Count ;  you  are  my  prisoner.  If  you 
make  any  movement,  you  shall  know  what  an  incensed  woman 
is  capable  of." 

Just  as  the  Count  and  Marie  were  looking  at  each  other 
with  widely  different  feelings,  confused  voices  were  shouting 
among  the  rocks,  "Save  the  Gars!  Scatter  yourselves! 
Save  the  Gars  !     Scatter  yourselves  !  " 

Barbette's  voice  rose  above  the  uproar  without,  and  was 
heard  by  the  two  foes  inside  the  cottage  with  very  diflFerent 
sensations,  for  she  was  speaking  less  to  her  own  son  than  to 
them. 

"Don't  you  see  the  Blues?"  Barbette  cried  tartly. 

"  Come  here,  you  naughty  little  lad,  or  I  will  go  after  you ! 
Do  you  want  to  get  shot?     Come,  run  away  quickly." 

While  all  these  small  events  were  rapidly  taking  place,  a 
Blue  dashed  into  the  swamp. 

"  Beau-Pied  !  "  called  Mile,  de  Verneuil, 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice  Beau-Pied  ran  up  and  took  a 
somewhat  better  aim  at  the  Count  than  his  deliverer  had  done. 

"  Aristocrat,"  said  the  waggish  soldier,  "  do  not  stir,  or  I 
will  bring  you  down  like  the  Bastille,  in  a  brace  of  shakes." 

"  Monsieur  Beau-Pied,"  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  in  persua- 
sive tones,  **  you  are  answerable  to  me  for  this  prisoner.  Do 
it  in  your  own  way,  but  you  must  deliver  him  over  to  me  at 
Foug^res  safe  and  sound." 

**  Enough,  madame  I  " 

"  Is  the  way  to  Foug^res  clear  by  now  ?" 


234  THE   CHOUANS. 

"It  is  safe,  unless  the  Chouans  come  to  life  again." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  cheerfully  equipped  herself  with  the 
light  fowling-piece,  gave  her  prisoner  an  ironical  smile  as  she 
remarked,  '*  Good-bye,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  we  shall  meet 
again  !  "  and  went  swiftly  up  the  pathway,  after  putting  on 
her  great  hat  again. 

"  I  am  learning  a  little  too  late,"  said  the  Comte  de  Bauvan 
bitterly,  "  that  one  should  never  jest  concerning  the  honor 
of  women  who  have  none  left." 

"Aristocrat,"  cried  Beau-Pied  with  asperity,  "say  nothing 
against  that  beautiful  lady,  if  you  do  not  wish  me  to  send  you 
to  your  ci-devant  paradise." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  returned  to  Fougeres  by  the  paths  which 
connect  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice  with  the  Nid-aux-Crocs. 
When  she  reached  these  latter  heights  and  hastened  along  the 
winding  track  which  had  been  beaten  out  over  the  rough  sur- 
face of  the  granite,  she  admired  the  lovely  little  Nangon 
valley,  but  lately  so  full  of  tumult,  now  so  absolutely  peaceful. 
Seen  from  that  point  of  view,  the  glen  looked  like  a  green 
alley.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  returned  by  way  of  St.  Leonard's 
gate,  where  the  narrow  path  came  to  an  end. 

The  townspeople  were  still  in  anxiety  about  the  struggle ; 
which,  judging  by  the  firing  that  they  heard  in  the  distance, 
seemed  likely  to  last  through  the  day.  They  were  awaiting 
the  return  of  the  National  Guard  to  know  the  full  extent  of 
their  losses.  When  this  girl  appeared  in  her  grotesque 
costume,  with  her  hair  disheveled,  a  gun  in  her  hand,  her 
dress  and  shawl  drenched  with  dew,  soiled  by  contact  with 
walls,  and  stained  with  mud,  the  curiosity  of  the  people  of 
Fougeres  was  all  the  more  vividly  excited  since  the  authority, 
beauty,  and  eccentricity  of  the  fair  Parisian  already  furnished 
the  stock  subject  of  their  conversation. 

Francine  had  sat  up  all  night  waiting  for  her  mistress,  a 
prey  to  horrible  misgivings,  so  that  on  her  return  she  wished  to 
talk,  but  silence  was  enjoined  upon  her  by  a  friendly  gesture. 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  235 

** I  am  not  dead,  child,"  said  Marie.  "Ah!  when  I  left 
Paris  I  longed  for  emotions — and  I  have  had  them,"  she 
added  after  a  pause.  Francine  went  out  to  order  a  meal, 
remarking  to  her  mistress  that  she  must  be  in  great  need  of  it, 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  "  but  a  bath,  a  bath  ! 
The  toilet  before  everything  else." 

It  was  with  no  small  degree  of  astonishment  that  Francine 
heard  her  mistress  asking  for  the  most  fashionable  and  elegant 
dresses  that  had  been  packed  for  her. 

After  her  breakfast,  Marie  made  her  toilet  with  all  the 
minute  care  and  attention  that  a  woman  devotes  to  this  most 
important  operation,  when  she  is  to  appear  before  the  eyes  of 
her  beloved  in  the  midst  of  a  ballroom.  Francine  could  not 
account  in  any  way  for  her  mistress'  mocking  gaiety.  There 
was  none  of  the  joy  of  love  in  it — no  woman  can  make  a 
mistake  as  to  that  expression — there  was  an  ill-omened  and 
concentrated  malice  about  her.  With  her  own  hands  Marie 
arranged  the  curtains  about  the  windows,  through  which  her 
eyes  beheld  a  magnificent  view.  Then  she  drew  the  sofa 
nearer  to  the  fire,  set  it  in  a  light  favorable  to  her  face,  and 
bade  Francine  bring  flowers,  so  as  to  impart  a  festival  appear- 
ance to  the  room.  When  Francine  had  brought  the  flowers, 
Marie  superintended  her  arrangement  of  them  to  the  best 
advantage.  After  casting  a  final  glance  of  satisfaction  round 
her  apartment,  she  ordered  Francine  to  send  some  one  to 
demand  her  prisoner  of  the  commandant. 

She  lay  back  luxuriously  upon  the  sofa,  partly  to  rest  herself, 
and  partly  in  order  to  assume  a  graceful  and  languid  pose, 
which  in  certain  women  exerts  an  irresistible  fascination. 
There  was  an  indolent  softness  about  her  ;  the  tips  of  her  feet 
scarcely  escaped  from  beneath  the  folds  of  her  dress  in  a  pro- 
voking manner ;  the  negligence  of  her  attitude,  the  bend  of 
her  neck — everything,  down  to  the  curves  of  her  slender 
fingers  that  drooped  over  a  cushion  like  the  bells  of  a  spray 
of  jessamine,  was  in  unison  with  her  glances,  and  possessed 


236  THE   CHOUANS. 

an  attractive  influence.  She  burned  perfumes  so  that  the  air 
was  permeated  with  the  sweet  fragrance  that  acts  so  power- 
fully on  the  nerves,  and  frequently  prepares  the  way  for  con- 
quests which  women  desire  to  make  without  any  advance  on 
their  part.  A  few  moments  later  the  heavy  tread  of  the 
old  commandant  was  heard  in  the  ante- chamber. 

"  Well,  commandant,  where  is  my  captive?  " 

**  I  have  just  ordered  out  a  picket  of  a  dozen  men  to 
shoot  him,  as  he  was  taken  with  arms  in  his  hands." 

"  You  have  disposed  of  my  prisoner  !  "  said  she.  "  Listen, 
commandant.  If  I  read  your  countenance  rightly,  there  can 
be  no  great  satisfaction  for  you  in  the  death  of  a  man  after 
the  engagement  is  over.  Very  well,  then  ;  give  me  back  my 
Chouan,  and  grant  him  a  reprieve.  I  will  take  the  responsi- 
bility upon  myself.  I  must  inform  you  that  this  aristocrat  has 
become  indispensable  to  me,  and  with  his  co-operation  our 
projects  will  be  accomplished.  Moreover,  it  w^ould  be  as 
ridiculous  to  shoot  this  amateur  Chouan  as  to  fire  on  a 
balloon,  for  the  prick  of  a  pin  is  all  that  is  needed  to  bring 
about  its  entire  collapse.  Leave  butchery  to  the  aristocrats, 
for  heaven's  sake.  Republics  should  show  themselves  to  be 
magnanimous.  Would  not  you  yourself  have  granted  an 
amnesty  to  the  victims  at  Quiberon  and  to  many  others? 
Now,  then,  send  your  dozen  men  to  make  the  rounds,  and 
come  and  dine  with  me  and  my  prisoner.  There  is  only 
an  hour  of  daylight  left,  and  you  see,"  she  added,  smiling, 
**  that  if  you  delay,  my  toilet  will  lose  all  its  effect." 

"  But,  mademoiselle "  said  the  astonished  commandant. 

''Well,  what  is  it?  I  understand  you.  Come,  the  Comte 
will  not  escape  you.  Sooner  or  later  the  portly  butterfly 
yonder  will  scorch  himself  beneath  the  fire  of  your  platoons." 

The  commandant  slightly  shrugged  his  shoulders,  like  a  man 
who  is  compelled  to  submit,  against  his  own  judgment,  to  the 
whims  of  a  pretty  woman.  He  returned  in  the  space  of  half 
an  hour,  followed  by  the  Comte  de  Bauvan. 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  237 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  made  as  though  her  two  guests  had  taken 
her  by  surprise,  and  appeared  to  be  in  some  confusion  at 
being  detected  by  the  Count  in  so  careless  an  attitude ;  but 
when  she  had  seen,  from  that  gentleman's  eyes,  that  a  first 
effect  had  been  produced  upon  him,  she  rose  and  gave  her 
whole  attention  to  her  visitors  with  perfect  politeness  and 
grace.  There  was  nothing  either  constrained  or  studied  in 
her  attitude,  in  her  smile,  her  voice  or  her  manner,  nothing 
that  betrayed  a  premeditated  design.  Everything  about  her 
was  in  agreement ;  there  was  no  touch  of  exaggeration  which 
could  give  an  impression  that  she  was  assuming  the  manners 
of  a  world  with  which  she  was  not  familiar. 

When  the  Royalist  and  the  Republican  were  both  seated, 
she  looked  at  the  Count  with  an  expression  of  severity.  The 
nobleman  understood  women  sufficiently  well  to  know  that  the 
affront  that  he  had  offered  to  her  was  likely  to  be  his  own  death- 
warrant.  But  in  spite  of  this  misgiving,  and  without  show- 
ing either  melancholy  or  levity,  he  behaved  like  a  man  who 
did  not  look  for  such  a  sudden  catastrophe.  It  soon  appeared 
to  him  that  there  was  something  ridiculous  about  fearing  death 
in  the  presence  of  a  pretty  woman,  and  Marie's  severe  looks 
had  put  some  ideas  into  his  head. 

"Eh!"  thought  he.  "Who  knows  whether  a  Count's 
coronet  still  to  be  had  will  not  please  her  better  than  the 
coronet  of  a  Marquis  which  has  been  lost  ?     Montauran  is  as 

hard  as  a  nail,  while  I "  and  he  looked  complacently  at 

himself.  "  At  any  rate,  if  I  save  my  life,  that  is  the  least  that 
may  come  of  it." 

These  diplomatic  reflections  were  all  to  no  purpose.  The 
penchant  which  the  Count  intended  to  feign  for  Mile,  de  Ver- 
neuil became  a  violent  fancy,  which  that  dangerous  being  was 
pleased  to  encourage. 

"You  are  my  prisoner,  Count,"  she  said,  "and  I  have  the 
right  to  dispose  of  you.     Your  execution  will  only  take  place 


238  THE   CHOUANS. 

with  ray  consent ;  and  I  have  too  much  curiosity  to  allow  you 
to  be  shot  at  once." 

"  And  suppose  that  I  maintain  an  obstinate  silence?"  he 
answered  merrily, 

"With  an  honest  woman  perhaps  you  might,  but  with  a 
light  one  !     Come  now,  Count,  that  is  impossible." 

These  words,  full  of  bitter  irony,  were  hissed  at  him  "  from 
so  sharp  a  whistle"  (to  quote  Sully's  remark  concerning  the 
Duchess  of  Beaufort),  that  the  astonished  noble  could  find 
nothing  better  to  do  than  to  gaze  at  his  cruel  opponent. 

"  Stay,"  she  went  on  with  a  satirical  smile,"  not  to  gainsay 
you,  I  will  be  a  '  good  girl,'  like  one  of  those  creatures.  Here 
is  your  gun,  to  begin  with,"  and  she  held  out  his  weapon  to 
him  with  mock  amiability. 

"  On  the  faith  of  a  gentleman,  mademoiselle,  you  are 
doing " 

**  Ah !  "  she  broke  in,  "I  have  had  enough  of  *  the  faith 
of  a  gentleman  !  '  On  that  security  I  set  foot  in  the  Vive- 
ti^re.     Your  chief  swore  that  I  and  mine  should  be  in  safety 


"What  infamy  !  "  exclaimed  Hulot  with  a  scowl. 

*'  It  is  the  Count  here  who  is  to  blame,"  she  said,  addressing 
Hulot,  and  indicating  the  noble.  The  Gars  certainly  in- 
tended to  keep  his  word ;  but  this  gentleman  put  some  slander 
or  other  in  circulation,  which  confirmed  the  stories  which  it 
had  pleased  Charette's  Filly  to  imagine  about  me." 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  the  Count  in  dire  distress,  with  the 
axe  hanging  over  him,  "  I  will  swear  that  I  said  nothing  but 
the  truth— ^ — " 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ?  " 

**  That  you  had  been  the- 


"  Speak  out !     The  mistress  ?  " 

"Of  the  Marquis  of  Lenoncourt,  the  present  Duke,  and  a 
friend  of  mine,"  the  Count  made  answer. 

"Now,  I  might  let  you  go  to  your  death,"  said  Marie,  who 


DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  239 

was  apparently  unmoved  by  the  Count's  circumstantial  accusa- 
tion. The  indifference,  real  or  feigned,  with  which  she 
regarded  its  opprobrium  amazed  the  Count.  "But,"  she 
continued,  laughing,  "  you  can  dismiss  forever  the  ominous 
vision  of  those  leaden  pellets,  for  you  have  no  more  given 
offence  to  me  than  to  that  friend  of  yours  to  whom  you  are 
pleased  to  assign  me  as — fie  on  you !  Listen  to  me.  Count, 
did  you  never  visit  my  father,  the  Due  de  Verneuil  ?  Very 
well  then " 

Considering,  doubtless,  that  the  confidence  which  she  was 
about  to  make  was  so  important  that  Hulot  must  be  excluded 
from  it,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  beckoned  the  Count  to  her,  and 
whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear.  A  stifled  exclamation  of 
surprise  broke  from  M.  de  Bauvan  :  he  looked  at  Marie  in  a 
bewildered  fashion ;  she  was  leaning  quietly  against  the 
chimney-piece,  and  the  childish  simplicity  of  her  attitude 
suddenly  brought  back  the  whole  of  the  memory  which  she 
had  partially  called  up.     The  Count  fell  on  one  knee. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  cried,  "I  entreat  you  to  grant  my 
pardon,  although  I  may  not  deserve  it." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,"  she  said.  "You  are  as  irra- 
tional now  in  your  repentance  as  you  were  in  your  insolent 
conjectures  at  the  Vivetiere,  But  these  mysteries  are  above 
your  intelligence.  Only,"  she  added  gravely,  "  you  must 
know  this.  Count,  that  the  daughter  of  the  Due  de  Verneuil 
has  too  much  magnanimity  not  to  feel  a  lively  interest  in  your 
fortunes." 

"Even  after  an  insult?"  said  the  Count,  with  a  sort  of 
remorse. 

"  Are  there  not  some  who  dwell  so  high  that  they  are 
above  the  reach  of  insult?     I  am  of  their  number,  Count." 

The  dignity  and  pride  in  the  girl's  bearing  as  she  uttered 
these  words  impressed  her  prisoner,  and  made  this  affair  con- 
siderably more  obscure  for  Hulot.  The  commandant's  hand 
traveled  to  his  moustache,  as  though  to  turn  it  up  at  the  ends. 


240  THE   CHOUANS. 

while  he  looked  on  uneasily.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  gave  him  a 
significant  glance,  as  if  to  assure  him  that  she  was  not  devi- 
ating from  her  plan. 

**  Now,  let  us  have  some  talk,"  she  went  on,  after  a  pause. 
"Bring  us  some  lights,  Francine,  my  girl." 

Skilfully  she  turned  the  conversation  on  the  times,  which, 
in  the  space  of  so  few  years,  had  come  to  be  the  "ancient 
regime."  She  carried  the  Count  back  to  those  days  so  thor- 
oughly, by  the  keenness  of  her  observations  and  the  vivid 
pictures  she  called  up ;  she  gave  him  so  many  opportunities 
of  displaying  his  wit,  by  conducting  her  own  replies  with 
dexterous  and  gracious  tact,  that  the  Count  ended  by  making 
the  discovery  that  never  before  had  he  been  so  agreeable.  He 
grew  young  again  at  the  thought,  and  endeavored  to  com- 
municate his  own  good  opinion  of  himself  to  this  attractive 
young  person.  The  mischievous  girl  amused  herself  by  try- 
mg  all  her  arts  of  coquetry  upon  the  Count,  doing  this  all  the 
more  dexterously,  because,  for  her,  it  was  only  a  game. 
Sometimes  she  led  him  to  believe  that  he  was  making  rapid 
progress  in  her  regard ;  sometimes  she  appeared  to  be  taken 
aback  by  the  warmth  of  her  own  feelings  ;  and  displayed,  in 
consequence,  a  reserve  that  fascinated  the  Count,  and  which 
visibly  helped  to  fan  his  extemporized  flame.  She  behaved 
exactly  like  an  angler  who  lifts  his  rod  from  time  to  time  to 
see  if  the  fish  is  nibbling  at  the  bait.  The  poor  Count  allowed 
himself  to  be  caught  by  the  innocent  way  in  which  his  deliv- 
erer received  two  or  three  rather  neatly  turned  compliments. 
Emigration,  the  Republic,  and  the  Chouans  were  a  thousand 
leagues  away  from  his  thoughts. 

Hulot  sat  bolt  upright,  motionless  and  pensive  as  the  god 
Terminus.  His  want  of  education  made  him  totally  unapt  at 
this  kind  of  conversation.  He  had  a  strong  suspicion  that  the 
two  speakers  must  be  a  very  witty  pair;  but  the  efforts  of  his 
own  intellect  were  confined  to  ascertaining  that  their  ambigu- 
ous words  contained  no  plotting  against  the  Republic. 


A   BAY   WITHOUT  A    MORROW.  241 

"Montauran,  mademoiselle,"  the  Count  was  saying,"  is 
well-born  and  well-bred ;  he  is  a  pretty  fellow  enough ;  but 
he  understands  nothing  of  gallantry.  He  is  too  young  to 
have  seen  Versailles.  His  education  has  been  deficient ;  he 
does  not  play  off  one  shrewd  turn  with  another ;  he  gives  a 
stab  with  the  knife  instead.  He  can  fall  violently  in  love, 
but  he  will  never  attain  to  that  fine  flower  of  manner  which 
distinguished  Lauzun,  Adhemar,  Coigny,  and  so  many  others. 
He  has  no  idea  of  the  agreeable  art  of  saying  to  women  those 
pretty  nothings,  which  are  better  suited  to  them,  after  all, 
than  outbursts  of  passion,  which  they  very  soon  find  wearisome. 
Yes,  although  he  may  have  made  conquests,  he  has  neither 
grace  nor  ease  of  manner." 

"I  saw  that  clearly,"  Marie  replied. 

"Ah  !  "  said  the  Count  to  himself,  "there  was  a  note  in 
her  voice  and  a  look  that  shows  that  it  will  not  be  long  before 
I  am  on  the  best  of  terms  with  her ;  and  faith  !  I  will  believe 
anything  she  wishes  me  to  believe,  in  order  to  be  hers." 

Dinner  was  served  ;  he  offered  his  arm.  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
did  her  part  as  hostess  with  a  politeness  and  tact  which  could 
only  have  been  acquired  by  an  education  received  in  the 
exclusive  life  of  a  court. 

**  Leave  us,"  she  said  to  Hulot,  as  they  left  the  table,  **  he 
is  afraid  of  you ;  while,  if  I  am  left  alone  with  him,  I  shall 
very  soon  learn  everything  that  I  wish  to  know ;  he  has 
reached  the  point  when  a  man  tells  me  everything  that  he 
thinks,  and  sees  things  only  through  my  eyes." 

"And  after  that?"  asked  the  commandant,  who  seemed 
thus  to  reassert  his  claim  to  the  prisoner. 

"  Oh  !  he  will  go  free,"  she  said,  "  free  as  the  air. 

"But  he  was  taken  with  arms  in  his  hands " 

"  No,  he  was  not,"  said  she,  "  for  I  had  disarmed  him,"  a 
jesting  sophistry  such  as  women  love  to  oppose  to  sound  but 
arbitrary  reasoning. 

"Count,"  she  said,  as  she  came  in  again,  "I  have  just 
16 


242  THE   CHOUANS. 

obtained  your  freedom ;  but  nothing  for  nothing !  "  she  went 
on,  smiling,  and  turning  her  head  question ingly  to  one  side. 

**  Ask  everything  of  me  that  you  will,  even  my  name  and 
my  honor!"  he  cried,  in  his  intoxication,  "I  lay  it  all  at 
your  feet."  And  he  came  near  to  seize  her  hand,  in  his 
endeavor  to  impose  his  desires  upon  her  as  gratitude,  but 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  not  a  girl  to  make  a  mistake  of  this 
kind.  So,  while  she  smiled  upon  this  new  lover,  so  as  to  give 
him  hope — 

"  Will  you  make  me  repent  of  my  confidence  in  you?"  she 
said,  drawing  back  a  step  or  two. 

"A  girl's  imagination  runs  faster  than  a  woman's,"  he 
answered,  laughing. 

"  A  girl  has  more  to  lose  than  a  woman." 

"True,  if  one  carries  a  treasure,  one  must  needs  be  sus- 
picious." 

"  Let  us  leave  this  kind  of  talk,"  she  answered,  "  and  speak 
seriously.  You  are  giving  a  ball  at  St.  James.  I  have  heard 
that  you  have  established  your  magazines  there,  and  your  ar- 
senals, and  made  it  the  seat  of  your  government.  When  is 
the  ball?" 

"  To-morrow  night." 

*'It  will  not  astonish  you,  sir,  that  a  slandered  woman 
should  wish,  with  feminine  persistency,  to  obtain  a  signal  rep- 
aration for  the  insults  to  which  she  has  been  subjected,  and 
this  in  the  presence  of  those  who  witnessed  them.  So  I  will 
go  to  your  ball.  What  I  ask  of  you  is  to  grant  me  your  pro- 
tection from  the  moment  of  my  arrival  to  the  moment  of  my 
departure.  I  do  not  want  your  word  for  it,"  she  said,  seeing 
that  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart.  "  I  hold  vows  in  abhor- 
rence ;  they  seem  to  me  too  like  precautions.  Simply  tell  me 
that  you  undertake  to  secure  me  against  any  infamous  and 
criminal  attempts  upon  my  person.  Promise  to  repair  your 
own  error  by  giving  out  everywhere  that  I  am  really  the 
daughter  of  the  Due  de  Verneuil;   keeping  silence,  at  the 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A    MORROW.  243 

same  time,  about  the  misfortunes  which  I  owe  to  the  lack  of 
a  father's  protecting  care ;  and  then  we  shall  be  quits.  Eh  ! 
Can  a  couple  of  hours'  protection  extended  to  a  woman  in  a 
ballroom  be  too  heavy  a  ransom  ?  Come,  come,  you  are  not 
worth  a  penny  more  than  that,"  and  a  smile  deprived  her 
words  of  any  bitterness. 

**  What  will  you  demand  for  my  gun?"  laughed  the 
Count. 

"  Oh  !  more  than  I  do  for  you  yourself." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Secrecy.  Believe  me,  Bauvan,  only  a  woman  can  read 
another  woman.  I  am  positive  that  if  you  breathe  a  word 
of  this,  I  may  lose  my  life  on  the  way  thither.  One  or  two 
balls  yesterday  warned  me  of  the  risks  which  I  must  encounter 
on  the  journey.  Oh  !  that  lady  is  as  expert  with  a  rifle  as  she 
is  dexterous  in  assisting  at  the  toilet.  No  waiting-woman  ever 
undressed  me  so  quickly.  Pray  manage  things  so  that  I  may 
have  nothing  of  that  kind  to  fear  at  the  ball." 

"You  will  be  under  my  protection,"  the  Count  replied 
proudly.  "  But  perhaps  it  is  for  Montauran's  sake  that  you 
are  coming  to  Saint  James?  " 

"You  wish  to  know  more  than  I  do  myself,"  she  said, 
laughing.  "  You  must  go,  now,"  she  added,  after  a  pause.  "  I 
myself  will  be  your  conductor  until  you  are  out  of  the  town, 
for  you  have  made  the  war  one  of  cannibals,  here." 

"But  you  take  some  interest  in  me,"  cried  the  Count. 
"  Ah  !  mademoiselle,  allow  me  to  hope  that  you  will  not  be 
insensible  to  my  friendship  ;  for  I  must  be  content  with  that, 
must  I  not? "  he  added,  with  the  air  of  a  coxcomb. 

"Come  now,  conjuror,"  she  said,  with  the  blithe  expres- 
sion that  a  woman  can  assume  when  she  makes  an  admission 
that  neither  betrays  her  real  feelings  nor  compromises  her 
dignity.  She  put  on  her  pelisse,  and  went  with  the  Count  as 
far  as  the  Nid-aux-Crocs.  When  they  reached  the  beginning 
of  the  footpath,  she  said — 


244  THE  CHOUANS. 

"  Maintain  an  absolute  reserve,  sir,  even  with  the  Marquis," 
and  she  laid  a  finger  on  her  lips.  The  Count,  emboldened 
by  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  graciousness,  took  her  hand ;  she  suf- 
fered him  to  do  so,  like  one  who  grants  a  great  privilege,  and 
he  kissed  it  tenderly, 

"Oh,  mademoiselle,"  he  cried,  when  he  saw  that  he  was 
quite  out  of  danger,  "  you  can  reckon  upon  me  through  life 
and  death  ?  Since  I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude  almost  as 
great  as  that  which  I  owe  to  my  own  mother,  it  will  be  very 
hard  to  feel  nothing  more  than  esteem  for  you." 

He  sprang  down  the  pathway.  Marie  watched  him  as  he 
scaled  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice,  and  nodded  approvingly,  as 
she  murmured  to  herself — 

**  That  fine  fellow  yonder  has  paid  me  for  his  life  more  than 
the  worth  of  his  life.  I  could  make  him  my  creature  at  a 
very  small  cost !  A  creature  and  a  creator  !  There  lies  the 
whole  difference  between  one  man  and  another  !  She  went 
no  further  with  her  thought.  She  gave  a  despairing  look  at 
the  sky  above  her,  and  slowly  returned  to  St.  Leonard's  Gate, 
where  Hulot  and  Corentin  were  waiting  for  her. 

"  Yet  two  more  days,"  she  cried  ;  then  she  checked  herself, 
seeing  that  they  were  not  alone,  and  whispered  the  rest  in 
Hulot's  ears — "  and  he  shall  drop  down  beneath  your  fire." 

With  a  peculiar  jocose  expression  not  easy  to  describe,  the 
commandant  suddenly  drew  back  a  step  and  looked  at  the 
girl  before  him — there  was  not  a  shadow  of  remorse  in  her 
face  or  bearing.  It  is  wonderful  how  women,  generally  speak- 
ing, never  reason  over  their  most  blameworthy  actions  ;  they 
are  led  entirely  by  their  feelings ;  there  is  a  kind  of  sincerity 
in  their  very  dissimulation,  and  only  among  women  is  crime 
dissociated  from  baseness ;  for,  for  the  most  part,  they  them- 
selves do  not  know  how  the  thing  has  come  about.  Hulot 
was  still  further  amazed  to  hear  her  say — 

"  I  am  going  to  Saint  James,  to  a  ball  given  by  the  Chouans, 
and " 


A  DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  2^ 

**But  that  is  five  leagues  away  from  here,"  Corentin  put  in. 
"Shall  I  escort  you?" 

"  You  are  very  much  taken  up,"  said  she,  '*  with  something 
that  I  never  think  about  at  all — that  is  to  say,  yourself. ' ' 

The  contempt  for  Corentin  which  Marie  had  displayed  was 
eminently  gratifying  to  Hulot,  who  made  his  peculiar  grimace 
as  he  watched  her  disappear  in  the  direction  of  St.  Leonard. 
Corentin's  eyes  likewise  followed  her;  but  from  his  face  it  was 
evident  that  he  suppressed  the  consciousness  of  a  superior 
power  which  he  thought  to  exercise  over  this  charming 
woman's  destiny ;  he  meant  so  to  control  her  by  means  of 
her  passions  that  one  day  she  should  be  his. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil,  on  her  return,  betook  herself  at  once  to 
considering  her  ball  dress.  Francine,  quite  accustomed  to 
obedience,  though  she  did  not  understand  the  ends  which  her 
mistress  had  in  view,  ransacked  the  trunks,  and  suggested  a 
Greek  costume.  Everything  at  that  time  took  its  tone  from 
ancient  Greece.  This  rich  toilet,  which  received  Marie's 
approval,  could  be  packed  in  a  trunk  that  could  easily  be 
carried. 

"I  am  setting  out  on  a  wild  errand,  Francine,  child; 
think  whether  you  would  rather  stay  here  or  go  with  me? " 

**  Stay  here  !  "  cried  Francine  ;  "  if  I  did,  who  would  dress 
you?" 

"  Where  have  you  put  the  glove  that  I  gave  you  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"  Here  it  is  !  " 

"  Sew  a  bit  of  green  ribbon  upon  it ;  and  before  all  things, 
do  not  forget  to  take  some  money." 

But  when  she  saw  that  Francine  had  newly  coined  money 
in  her  hand,  she  exclaimed,  "  That  in  itself  would  be  the 
death  of  us  !  Send  Jeremiah  to  arouse  Corentin.  No,  the 
villain  would  follow  us  !  It  would  be  better  to  send  to  the 
commandant  to  ask  him  for  some  crowns  of  six  francs  each, 
for  me." 


246  THE    C HO  VANS. 

Marie  thought  of  everything  down  to  the  smallest  detail, 
with  a  woman's  foresight.  While  Francine  completed  the 
preparations  for  her  incomprehensible  journey,  she  occupied 
herself  with  trying  to  imitate  the  cry  of  the  screech-owl,  and 
succeeded  in  imitating  Marche-a-Terre's  signal  in  a  manner 
that  baffled  detection.  At  midnight  she  passed  out  through 
St.  Leonard's  Gate,  reached  the  narrow  footpath  along  the 
Nid-aux-Crocs ;  and,  with  Francine  following  her,  she  ven- 
tured across  the  dale  of  Gibarry.  She  walked  with  a  firm 
step;  for  so  strong  a  will  as  that  which  stirred  within  her 
invests  the  body  and  its  movements  with  an  indescribable 
quality  of  power.  For  women,  the  problem  how  to  leave  a 
ballroom  without  catching  a  cold  is  of  no  small  importance; 
but  when  their  hearts  are  once  possessed  by  passion,  their 
frames  might  be  made  of  iron.  Even  e  bold  man  would  have 
hesitated  over  such  an  enterprise ;  but  scarcely  had  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  begun  to  feel  the  attractions  of  the  prospect,  when 
its  dangers  became  so  many  temptations  for  her. 

"You  are  setting  out  without  a  prayer  for  God's  protec- 
tion," said  Francine,  who  had  turned  to  look  at  St.  Leonard's 
spire. 

The  devout  Breton  girl  stopped,  clasped  her  hands,  and 
said  her  Ave  to  St.  Anne  of  Auray,  beseeching  her  to  prosper 
their  journey,  while  her  mistress  stood  waiting,  deep  in 
thought,  gazing  alternately  at  the  childlike  attitude  of  her 
maid,  who  was  praying  fervently,  and  at  the  effects  of  the 
misty  moonlight,  as  it  fell  over  the  carved  stone-work  about 
the  church,  giving  to  the  granite  the  look  of  delicate  filagree. 

In  no  long  time  the  two  women  reached  Galope-Chopine's 
cottage.  Light  as  were  the  sounds  of  their  footsteps,  they 
aroused  one  of  the  huge  dogs  that,  in  Brittany,  are  intrusted 
with  the  safe-keeping  of  the  door,  a  simple  wooden  latch 
being  the  only  fastening  in  vogue.  The  dog  made  a  rush  at 
the  two  strangers,  and  his  bark  became  so  furious  that  they 
were  compelled  to  retreat  a  few  paces  and  to  call  for  help. 


A  DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  247 

Nothing  stirred,  however.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  gave  the  cry  of 
the  screech-owl,  and  then  the  rusty  hinges  of  the  cabin-door 
creaked  loudly  all  at  once,  and  Galope-Chopine,  who  had 
risen  in  haste,  showed  his  gloomy  countenance. 

Marie  held  out  Montauran's  glove  for  the  inspection  of  the 
warden  of  Fougeres. 

"  I  must  go  to  Saint  James  at  once,"  she  said.  "The 
Comte  de  Bauvan  told  me  that  I  should  find  a  guide  and  pro- 
tector in  you.  So  find  two  donkeys  for  us  to  ride,  my  worthy 
Galope-Chopine,  and  prepare  to  come  with  us  yourself.  Time 
is  valuable ;  for  if  we  do  not  reach  Saint  James  before  to- 
morrow evening  we  shall  neither  see  the  Gars  nor  the  ball." 

Galope-Chopine,  utterly  amazed,  took  the  glove  and  turned 
it  over  and  over.  Then  he  lighted  a  candle  made  of  resin, 
about  the  thickness  of  the  little  finger,  and  the  color  of  ginger- 
bread. This  commodity  had  been  imported  from  the  north 
of  Europe,  and,  like  everything  else  in  this  strange  land  of 
Brittany,  plainly  showed  the  prevailing  ignorance  of  the  most 
elementary  principles  of  commerce.  When  Galope-Chopine 
had  seen  the  green  ribbon,  taken  a  look  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil, 
scratched  his  ear,  and  emptied  a  pitcher  of  cider,  after  offering 
a  glass  to  the  fair  lady,  he  left  her  seated  upon  the  bench  of 
polished  chestnut-wood  before  the  table,  and  went  in  search 
of  two  donkeys. 

The  violet  rays  of  the  outlandish  candle  were  hardly  strong 
enough  to  outshine  the  fitful  moonlight,  that  gave  vague  out- 
lines in  dots  of  light  to  the  dark  hues  of  the  furniture,  and  to 
the  floor  of  the  smoke-begrimed  hut.  The  little  urchin  had 
raised  his  pretty,  wondering  face ;  and  up  above  his  fair  curls 
appeared  the  heads  of  two  cows,  their  pink  noses  and  great 
eyes  shone  through  the  holes  in  the  wall  of  the  byre.  The 
big  dog,  whose  head  was  by  no  means  the  least  intelligent 
one  in  this  family,  seemed  to  contemplate  the  two  strangers 
with  a  curiosity  quite  as  great  as  that  displayed  by  the  child. 
A  painter  would  have  dwelt  admiringly  on  the  effect  of  this 


248  THE   CHOUANS. 

night-piece,  but  Marie  was  not  very  eager  to  enter  into  con- 
versation with  the  spectre-like  Barbette,  who  was  now  sitting 
up  in  bed,  and  had  begun  to  open  her  eyes  very  wide  with 
recognition.  Marie  went  out  to  avoid  the  pestiferous  atmo- 
sphere of  the  hovel,  and  to  escape  the  questions  which  the 
"  Becaniere  "  was  about  to  ask. 

She  tripped  lightly  up  the  flight  of  stairs  cut  in  the  rock 
which  overhung  Galope-Chopine's  cottage,  and  thence  ad- 
mired the  endless  detail  of  the  landscape  before  her,  which 
underwent  a  change  at  every  step,  whether  backwards  or  for- 
wards, towards  the  crests  of  the  hills  or  down  to  the  depths 
of  the  valleys.  Moonlight  was  spreading  like  a  luminous  mist 
far  and  wide  over  the  valley  of  the  Couesnon.  A  woman  who 
carried  a  burden  of  slighted  love  in  her  heart  could  not  but 
experience  the  feeling  of  melancholy  that  this  soft  light  pro- 
duces in  the  soul — a  light  that  lent  fantastic  outlines  to  the 
mountain  forms,  and  traced  out  the  lines  of  the  streams  in 
strange  pale  tints. 

The  silence  was  broken  just  then  by  the  bray  of  the  asses. 
Marie  hurried  down  to  the  Chouan's  cabin,  and  they  set  out 
at  once.  Galope-Chopine,  armed  with  a  double-barreled 
fowling-piece,  wore  a  shaggy  goatskin  which  gave  him  the 
appearance  of  Robinson  Crusoe.  His  wrinkled  and  blotched 
countenace  was  barely  visible  beneath  his  huge  hat,  an  article 
of  dress  to  which  the  peasants  still  cling,  in  pride  at  having 
obtained,  after  all  their  long  ages  of  serfdom,  a  decoration  sacred 
to  the  heads  of  their  lords  in  times  of  yore.  There  was  some- 
thing patriarchal  about  the  costume,  attitude  and  form  of 
their  guide  and  protector ;  the  whole  nocturnal  procession 
resembled  the  picture  of  "The  Flight  into  Egypt,"  which 
we  owe  to  the  sombre  brush  of  Rembrandt.  Galope-Chopine 
industriously  avoided  the  highway,  and  led  the  two  women 
through  the  vast  labyrinth  made  by  cross-country  roads  in 
Brittany. 

By  this  time  Mile,  de  Verneuil  understood  the  tactics  of  the 


A  DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  24Q 

Chouans  in  war.  As  she  herself  went  over  these  tracks,  she 
could  form  a  more  accurate  notion  of  the  nature  of  the  coun- 
try which  had  appeared  so  enchanting  to  her  when  she  viewed 
it  from  the  heights ;  a  country  presenting  dangers  and  well- 
nigh  hopeless  difficulties,  which  must  be  experienced  before 
any  idea  can  be  formed  concerning  them.  The  peasants, 
from  time  immemorial,  have  raised  a  bank  of  earth  about  each 
field,  forming  a  flat-topped  ridge,  six  feet  in  height,  with 
beeches,  oaks  and  chestnut  trees  growing  upon  the  summit. 
The  ridge  or  mound,  planted  in  this  wise,  is  called  a  "  hedge  " 
(the  kind  of  hedge  they  have  in  Normandy) ;  and  as  the  long 
branches  of  the  trees  which  grow  upon  it  almost  always  pro- 
ject across  the  road,  they  make  a  great  arbor  overhead.  The 
roads  themselves,  shut  in  by  clay  banks  in  this  melancholy 
way,  are  not  unlike  the  moats  of  fortresses ;  and  whenever 
the  granite,  which  is  nearly  always  just  beneath  the  surface 
in  these  districts,  does  not  form  an  uneven  natural  pavement, 
the  ways  become  so  excessively  heavy,  that  the  lightest  cart 
can  only  travel  over  them  with  the  help  of  two  yoke  of  oxen 
and  a  couple  of  horses ;  they  are  small  horses,  it  is  true,  but 
generally  strong.  So  chronic  is  the  swampy  state  of  the 
roads  that  by  dint  of  use  and  wont,  a  path  called  a  ro^g  has 
been  beaten  out  for  foot  passengers  along  the  side  of  the 
hedge  in  each  field.  The  necessary  transition  from  one  field 
to  another  is  effected  by  climbing  a  few  steps  cut  in  the  bank 
sides,  which  are  often  slippery  in  wet  weather. 

The  travelers  found  other  obstacles  in  abundance  to  be  sur- 
mounted in  these  winding  lanes.  Each  separate  piece  of 
land,  fortified  in  the  way  that  has  been  described,  possesses  a 
gateway  some  ten  feet  wide,  which  is  barred  across  by  a  con- 
trivance called  an  echalier  in  the  west.  The  echalier  is  either 
a  trunk  or  a  limb  of  a  tree,  with  a  hole  drilled  through  one  end  of 
it,  so  that  it  can  be  set  on  another  shapeless  log  of  wood  which 
serves,  as  it  were,  for  a  handle  or  pivot  Vipon  which  the  first 
piece  is  turned.     The  thick  end  of  the  echalier  is  so  arranged 


250  THE   CHOUANS. 

as  to  project  some  distance  behind  this  pivot,  so  that  it  can 
carry  a  heavy  weight  as  a  counterpoise,  a  device  that  enables 
a  child  to  open  and  close  this  curious  rustic  gate.  The  further 
end  of  the  tree  trunk  lies  in  a  hollow  fashioned  on  the  inner  side 
of  the  bank  itself.  Sometimes  the  peasants  thriftily  dispense 
with  the  stone  counterpoise,  and  let  the  thick  end  of  the  trunk 
or  limb  of  the  tree  hang  further  over  instead.  This  kind  of 
barrier  varies  with  the  taste  of  every  farmer.  Very  often  the 
echalier  consists  of  one  single  branch  of  a  tree,  with  either 
end  ensconced  in  the  earth  of  the  bank.  Often,  again,  it 
looks  like  a  square  gate,  built  up  of  many  branches,  set  at  inter- 
vals, as  if  the  rungs  of  a  ladder  had  been  arranged  crosswise. 
This  kind  of  a  gate  turns  about  like  an  echalier,  and  the  other 
end  moves  upon  a  little  revolving  disc. 

These  '*  hedges  "  and  echaliers  make  the  land  look  like  a 
vast  chessboard.  Every  field  is  a  separate  and  distinct  en- 
closure like  a  fortress,  and  each,  like  a  fortress,  is  protected 
by  a  rampart.  The  gateways  are  readily  defended,  and, 
when  stormed,  afford  a  conquest  fraught  with  many  perils. 
The  Breton  has  a  fancy  that  fallow  land  is  made  fertile  by 
growing  huge  bushes  of  broom  upon  it ;  so  he  encourages  this 
shrub,  which  thrives  upon  the  treatment  it  receives  to  such  an 
extent  that  it  soon  reaches  the  height  of  a  man.  This  super- 
stition is  not  unworthy  of  a  population  capable  of  depositing 
their  heaps  of  manure  on  the  highest  points  of  their  fold- 
yards ;  and,  in  consequence,  one-fourth  of  the  whole  area  of 
the  land  is  covered  with  thickets  of  broom,  affording  hiding- 
places  without  number  for  ambuscades.  Scarcely  a  field  is 
without  its  one  or  two  old  cider-apple  trees,  whose  low,  over- 
hanging branches  are  fatal  to  the  vegetation  beneath.  Imagine, 
therefore,  how  little  of  the  field  itself  is  left,  when  every 
hedge  is  planted  with  huge  trees,  whose  greedy  roots  spread 
out  over  one-fourth  of  the  space  ;  and  you  will  have  some 
idea  of  the  system  of  cultivation  and  general  appearance  of 
the  country  through  which  Mile,   de  Verneuil  was  traveling. 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  251 

It  is  not  clear  whether  a  desire  to  avoid  disputes  about 
landmarks,  or  the  convenient  and  easy  custom  of  shutting  up 
cattle  on  the  land  with  no  one  to  look  after  them,  brought 
about  the  construction  of  these  redoubtable  barriers — perma- 
nent obstacles  which  make  the  country  impenetrable,  and 
render  a  war  with  large  bodies  of  troops  quite  impossible. 
When  the  nature  of  the  land  has  been  reviewed,  step  by  step, 
the  hopelessness  of  a  struggle  between  regular  and  irregular 
troops  is  abundantly  evident ;  for  five  hundred  men  can  hold 
the  country  in  the  teeth  of  the  troops  of  a  kingdom.  This 
was  the  whole  secret  of  Chouan  warfare. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  now  understood  how  pressing  was  the 
necessity  that  the  Republic  should  stamp  out  rebellion  rather 
by  means  of  police  and  diplomacy  than  by  futile  efforts  on  the 
part  of  the  military.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  what  was  it  possible 
to  effect  against  a  people  clever  enough  to  despise  the  pos- 
session of  their  towns,  while  they  secured  the  length  and 
breadth  of  their  land  by  such  indestructible  earthworks? 
And  how  do  otherwise  than  negotiate,  when  the  whole  blind 
force  of  the  peasants  was  concentrated  in  a  wary  and  auda- 
cious chief?  She  admired  the  genius  of  the  minister  who  had 
discovered  the  clue  to  a  peace  in  the  depths  of  his  cabinet. 
She  thought  she  had  gained  an  insight  into  the  nature  of 
the  considerations  which  sway  men  who  have  ability  enough 
to  see  the  condition  of  an  empire  at  a  glance.  Their 
actions,  which  in  the  eyes  of  the  crowd  seem  to  be  crim- 
inal, are  but  the  partial  manifestations  of  a  single  vast  con- 
ception. There  is  about  such  awe-inspiring  minds  as  these 
an  unknown  power  which  seems  to  belong  half  to  chance 
and  half  to  fate;  a  mysterious  prophetic  instinct  within  them 
beckons  them,  and  they  rise  up  suddenly ;  the  common  herd 
misses  them  for  a  moment  from  among  its  members,  raises  its 
eyes,  and  beholds  them  soaring  on  high.  These  thoughts 
seemed  to  justify,  nay,  to  exalt  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  longings 
for  revenge ;    her    hopes    and    the    thoughts    that  wrought 


252  THE   CHOUANS. 

within  her  lent  to  her  sufficient  strength  to  endure  the  un- 
wonted fatigues  of  her  journey.  At  the  boundary  of  every 
freehold  Galope-Chopine  was  compelled  to  assist  the  two 
women  to  dismount,  and  to  help  them  scramble  over  the 
awkward  interval,  and  when  the  rotes  came  to  an  end  they 
were  obliged  to  mount  again  and  venture  into  the  miry 
lanes  which  the  approach  of  winter  had  already  affected. 
The  huge  trees,  the  hollow  ways,  and  the  barriers  in  these 
low-lying  meadows,  all  combined  to  shut  in  a  damp  atmos- 
phere that  surrounded  the  three  travelers  like  an  icy  pall. 
After  much  painful  fatigue  they  reached  the  woods  of  Marig- 
nay  at  sunrise.  Their  way  became  easier  along  a  broad  forest 
ride.  The  thick  vault  of  branches  overhead  protected  them 
from  the  weather,  and  they  encountered  no  more  of  the  diffi- 
culties which  had  hitherto  impeded  them. 

They  had  scarcely  gone  a  league  through  the  forest,  when 
they  heard  a  confused  far-off  murmur  of  voices  and  the  silvery 
sounds  of  a  bell,  ringing  less  monotonously  than  those  which 
are  shaken  by  the  movements  of  cattle.  Galope-Chopine 
hearkened  to  the  soft  sounds  with  keen  attention.  Very  soon 
a  gust  of  the  breeze  bSre  the  words  of  a  psalm  to  his  ear. 
This  seemed  to  produce  a  great  effect  upon  him ;  he  led  the 
weary  donkeys  aside  into  a  track  which  took  the  travelers  away 
from  the  direct  road  to  Saint  James,  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
remonstrances  of  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  whose  uneasiness  was  in- 
creased by  the  gloomy  condition  of  the  place.  Enormous 
blocks  of  granite,  with  the  strangest  outlines,  lay  to  right  and 
left  of  them,  piled  one  above  another.  Huge  serpent-like 
roots  wandered  over  these  rocks,  seeking  moisture  and  nour- 
ishment afar  for  some  {q'h  venerable  beeches.  Both  sides  of 
the  road  looked  like  the  huge  caves  which  are  famous  for  their 
stalactites.  Ravines  and  cavern-mouths  were  hidden  by  fes- 
toons of  ivy ;  the  sombre  green  of  the  holly  thickets  mingled 
with  the  brackens  and  with  green  or  grayish  patches  of  moss. 
The  travelers  had  not  taken  many  steps  along  tliis  narrow 


A  BAY  WITHOUT  A  MORROW.  258 

track  when  a  most  amazing  scene  suddenly  spread  itself  before 
Mile,  de  Verneuil's  eyes,  and  explained  Galope-Chopine's 
pertinacity. 

A  kind  of  cove  rose  before  them,  built  of  huge  masses  of 
granite,  forming  a  semicircular  amphitheatre.  Tall  dark  firs 
and  golden-brown  chestnut  trees  grew  on  its  irregular  tiers, 
which  rose  one  above  another,  as  in  a  great  circus.  The 
winter  sun  seemed  not  so  much  to  throw  its  light  as  to  pour  a 
flood  of  pale  colors  over  everything,  and  autumn  had  spread 
a  warm  brown  carpet  of  dry  leaves  everywhere.  In  the  very 
centre  of  this  hall,  which  seems  to  have  had  the  deluge  for  its 
architect,  rose  three  giant  Druidical  stones,  a  great  altar  above 
which  the  banner  of  the  church  was  set.  Some  hundred  men, 
in  fervent  prayer,  knelt,  bareheaded,  in  this  enclosure,  where 
a  priest,  assisted  by  two  other  ecclesiastics,  was  saying  mass. 
The  poverty  of  the  sacerdotal  garb,  the  weak  voice  of  the 
priest,  which  echoed  like  a  murmur  in  space,  the  crowd  of 
men  filled  with  conviction,  united  by  one  common  feeling, 
bending  before  the  undecorated  altar  and  the  bare  crucifix, 
the  sylvan  austerity  of  the  temple,  the  hour  and  the  place, 
lent  this  scene  an  appearance  of  simplicity  which  must  have 
characterized  early  Christian  gatherings. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  stood  still  in  admiring  awe.  She  had 
never  before  seen  or  imagined  anything  like  this  mass  said  in 
the  heart  of  the  forest,  this  worship  which  persecution  had 
driven  back  to  its  primitive  conditions,  this  poetry  of  the 
days  of  yore  brought  into  sharp  contrast  with  the  strange  and 
wild  aspects  of  nature,  these  kneeling  Chouans,  armed  or  un- 
armed, at  once  men  and  children — at  once  cruel  and  devout. 
She  recollected  how  often  she  had  marveled  in  her  childhood 
at  the  pomps  which  this  very  Church  of  Rome  has  made  so 
grateful  to  every  sense  ;  but  she  had  never  been  brought  thus 
face  to  face  with  the  thought  of  God  alone — His  cross  above 
the  altar,  His  altar  set  on  the  bare  earth  ;  among  the  autumn 
woods  that  seemed  to  sustain  the  dome  of  the  sky  above,  as 


254  THE   CHOUANS. 

the  garlands  of  carved  stone  crown  the  archways  of  gothic  ca- 
thedrals ;  while  for  the  myriad  colors  of  stained-glass  windows, 
a  few  faint  red  gleams  of  sunlight  and  its  duller  reflections 
scarcely  lighted  up  the  altar,  the  priest,  and  his  assistants. 

The  men  before  her  were  a  fact,  and  not  a  system  ;  this  was 
a  prayer,  and  not  a  theology.  But  the  human  passions  which, 
thus  restrained  for  a  moment,  had  left  the  harmony  of  this 
picture  undisturbed,  soon  reasserted  themselves,  and  brought 
a  powerful  animation  into  the  mysterious  scene. 

The  gospel  came  to  an  end  as  Mile,  de  Verneuil  came  up. 
She  recognized,  not  without  alarm,  the  Abbe  Gudin  in  the 
officiating  priest,  and  hastily  screened  herself  from  his  obser- 
vation behind  a  great  fragment  of  granite,  which  made  a 
hiding-place  for  her.  She  also  drew  Francine  quickly  behind 
it,  but  in  vain  did  she  endeavor  to  tear  Galope-Chopine  away 
from  the  post  which  he  had  chosen  with  a  view  to  sharing  in 
the  benefits  of  the  ceremony.  She  hoped  to  effect  an  escape 
from  the  danger  that  threatened  her  when  she  saw  that  the 
nature  of  the  ground  would  permit  her  to  withdraw  before 
all  the  rest  of  the  cdngregation. 

Through  a  large  cleft  in  the  rock  she  saw  the  Abb6  Gudin 
take  his  stand  upon  a  block  of  granite  which  served  him  for 
a  pulpit,  where  he  began  his  sermon  with  these  words  :  "  /« 
nomine  Patris,  et  Filii,  et  Spiritus  sancti. ' ' 

The  whole  congregation  devoutly  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross  as  he  spoke. 

"  My  dear  brethren,"  the  Abb6  then  began,  in  a  loud 
voice,  "  first  of  all  let  us  pray  for  the  dead  :  for  Jean  Coche- 
grue,  Nicolas  Laferte,  Joseph  Brouet,  Francois  Parquoi,  Sulpice 
Coupiau,  all  of  this  parish,  who  died  of  the  wounds  which 
they  received  in  the  fight  at  La  Pdlerine  and  in  the  siege  of 
Fougdres.  Z><?  profundis,''  and  the  psalm  was  recited,  as 
their  custom  was,  by  the  priests  and  congregation,  who  re- 
peated alternate  verses  with  an  enthusiasm  that  augured  well 
for  the  success  of  the  sermon.     When  the  psalm  for  the  dead 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  255 

was  over,  the  Abbe  Gudin  went  on  again  in  tones  that  grew 
more  and  more  vehement ;  for  the  old  Jesuit  was  well  aware 
that  an  emphatic  style  of  address  was  the  most  convincing 
form  of  argument  by  which  to  persuade  his  uncivilized 
audience, 

"  These  defenders  of  God,  Christian  brethren,  have  set 
example  of  your  duty  before  you,"  said  he.  "  Are  you  not 
ashamed  of  what  they  may  be  saying  of  you  in  Paradise? 
Were  it  not  for  those  blessed  souls,  who  must  have  been  wel- 
comed there  by  the  saints  with  open  arms,  our  Lord  might 
well  believe  that  your  parish  is  the  abode  of  heathen  Ma- 
hometans !  Do  you  know,  my  gars,  what  is  said  about  you 
in  Brittany,  and  what  the  King  is  told  of  you  ?  You  do  not 
know,  is  not  that  so  ?  I  will  tell  you.  They  say,  '  What  is 
this  ?  Altars  have  been  overthrown  by  the  Blues  ;  they  have 
slain  the  rectors,  they  have  murdered  the  King  and  Queen, 
they  intend  to  take  the  men  of  every  parish  in  Brittany,  to 
make  them  Blues  like  themselves,  and  to  send  them  away 
from  their  parishes  to  fight  in  far-off  countries  where  they  run 
the  risk  of  dying  unshriven,  and,  therefore,  of  spending 
eternity  in  hell.  And  are  the  gars  of  Marignay,  whose  church 
has  been  burned  down,  waiting  with  their  arms  hanging  by 
their  sides  ?  Oho  !  This  accursed  Republic  has  sold  the 
goods  of  God  and  of  the  seigneurs  by  auction,  and  divided 
the  price  among  the  Blues  ;  and  in  order  to  batten  itself  on 
money  as  it  has  battened  on  blood,  the  Republic  has  issued  a 
decree  which  demands  three  livres  out  of  every  crown  of  six 
francs,  just  as  it  demands  three  men  out  of  every  six ;  and 
the  men  of  Marignay  have  not  taken  up  their  weapons  to 
drive  the  Blues  out  of  Brittany  ?  Aha !  Paradise  will  be 
shut  against  them,  and  they  will  never  save  their  souls  !  ' 
This  is  what  people  are  saying  about  you.  It  is  your  own 
salvation,  Christians,  that  is  at  stake  1  You  will  save  your 
souls  in  the  struggle  for  your  faith  and  your  King.  St.  Anne 
of  Auray  appeared  to  me  herself  yesterday  at  half-past  two. 


256  THE   CHOUANS. 

She  told  me  then  just  what  I  am  telling  you  now.  *  Thou  art 
a  priest  from  Marignay?  '  '  Yes,  madame,  at  your  service.* 
*  Very  good,  I  am  St.  Anne  of  Auray,  aunt  of  God,  as  we 
reckon  in  Brittany.  I  dwell  at  Auray,  and  I  am  come  hither 
also,  to  bid  thee  tell  the  gars  of  Marignay  that  there  is  no 
hope  of  salvation  for  them  if  they  do  not  take  up  arms.  So 
thou  shalt  refuse  to  absolve  them  from  their  sins  unless  they 
serve  God.  Thou  shalt  bless  their  guns,  and  those  gars  who 
shall  be  absolved  from  their  sins  shall  never  miss  the  Blues, 
for  their  guns  shall  be  holy  ! '  She  disappeared  beneath  the 
goose-foot  oak,  leaving  an  odor  of  incense  behind.  I  marked 
the  spot.  There  is  a  beautiful  wooden  Virgin  there,  set  up  by 
the  rector  of  Saint  James.  Moreover,  the  mother  of  Pierre 
Leroi,  who  is  called  Marche-a-Terre,  having  repaired  thither 
in  the  evening  to  pray,  has  been  healed  of  her  sufferings 
through  the  good  works  wrought  by  her  son.  There  she  is 
in  your  midst ;  you  can  see  her  with  your  own  eyes  walking 
about  without  help  from  any  one.  It  is  a  miracle,  like  the 
resurrection  of  the  blessed  Marie  Lambrequin,  wrought  to 
prove  to  you  that  God  will  never  forsake  the  cause  of  the 
Bretons  so  long  as  they  fight  for  His  servants  and  for  the 
King. 

"So,  dear  brethren,  if  you  would  save  your  souls  and 
show  yourselves  to  be  defenders  of  our  lord  the  King,  you 
ought  to  obey  him  who  has  been  sent  to  you  by  the  King, 
and  whom  we  call  the  Gars,  in  everything  that  he  may  com- 
mand. Then  you  will  no  longer  be  like  heathen  Mahome- 
tans, and  you  will  be  found,  with  all  the  gars  of  all  Brittany, 
beneath  the  banner  of  God.  You  can  take  back  again,  out 
of  the  Blues'  pockets,  all  the  money  that  they  have  stolen,  for 
since  your  fields  lie  unsown  while  you  go  out  to  war,  our 
Lord  and  the  King  make  over  to  you  all  the  spoils  of  your 
enemies.  Christians,  shall  it  be  said  of  you  that  the  gars  of 
Marignay  lag  behind  the  gars  of  Morbihan,  the  gars  of  Saint- 
Georges,  of  Vitre  or  of  Antrain,  who  are  all  in  the  service  of 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  257 

God  and  the  King?  Will  you  allow  them  to  take  everything ? 
Will  you  look  on,  like  heretics,  with  folded  arms,  while  so 
many  Bretons  are  saving  their  own  souls  while  they  save  their 
King?  '  For  Me,  ye  shall  give  up  all  things,'  says  the  gospel. 
Have  not  we  ourselves  given  up  our  tithes  already  ?  Give  up 
everything  to  wage  this  sacred  war !  You  sliall  be  as  the 
Maccabees,  you  will  be  pardoned  at  the  last.  You  will  find, 
in  your  midst,  your  rectors  and  your  cures,  and  the  victory 
will  be  yours  !  Christians,  give  heed  to  this  !  "  said  he, as  he 
drew  to  an  end.  "To-day  is  the  only  day  on  which  we  have 
the  power  of  blessing  your  guns.  Those  who  do  not  take 
advantage  of  this  favor  will  never  find  the  Blessed  One  of 
Auray  so  merciful  at  another  time,  and  she  will  not  hear  them 
again,  as  she  did  in  the  last  war." 

This  sermon,  supported  by  the  thunders  of  a  powerful  voice 
and  by  manifold  gesticulations,  which  bathed  the  orator  in 
perspiration,  produced  but  little  apparent  effect.  The 
peasants  stood  motionless  as  statues,  with  their  eyes  fixed  on 
the  speaker ;  but  Mile,  de  Verneuil  soon  saw  clearly  that  this 
universal  attitude  was  the  result  of  a  spell  which  the  Abbe 
exerted  over  the  crowd.  Like  all  great  actors,  he  had 
swayed  his  audience  as  one  man,  by  appealing  to  their  pas- 
sions and  to  their  interests.  Was  he  not  absolving  them 
beforehand  for  any  excesses  that  they  might  commit  ?  Had 
he  not  severed  the  few  bonds  that  restrained  these  rough 
natures,  and  that  kept  them  obedient  to  the  precepts  of 
religion  and  of  social  order  ?  He  had  prostituted  the  priestly 
office  to  the  uses  of  political  intrigue  ;  but  in  those  revolu- 
tionary times,  every  one  used  such  weapons  as  he  possessed  in 
the  interests  of  his  party,  and  the  peace-bringing  cross  of 
Christ  became  an  instrument  of  war,  as  did  the  ploughshare 
that  produces  man's  daily  bread. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  saw  no  one  who  could  understand  her 
thoughts,  so  she  turned  to  look  at  Francine,  and  was  not  a 
little  amazed  to  find  that  her  maid  was  sharing  in  the  general 
17 


258  THE   CHOUANS. 

enthusiasm.  She  was  devoutly  telling  her  beads  on  Galope- 
Chopine's  rosary;  he  no  doubt,  had  made  it  over  to  her  dur- 
ing the  course  of  the  sermon. 

"  Francine,"  she  murmured,  *'  are  you  also  afraid  of  being 
a  *  heathen  Mahometan  ?  '  " 

"Oh!  mademoiselle,"  answered  the  Breton  girl,  "only 
look  at  Pierre's  mother  over  yonder,  she  is  walking " 

There  was  such  deep  conviction  in  Francine's  attitude,  that 
Marie  understood  the  secret  spell  of  the  sermon,  the  influence 
exercised  by  the  clergy  in  the  country,  and  the  tremendous 
power  of  the  scene  which  was  just  about  to  begin.  Those 
peasants  who  stood  nearest  went  up,  one  by  one,  kneeling  as 
they  offered  their  guns  to  the  preacher,  who  laid  them  down 
upon  the  altar,  Galope-Chopine  lost  no  time  in  presenting 
himself  with  his  old  duck  gun. 

The  three  priests  chanted  the  hymn  Veni  Creator,  while  the 
officiating  priests  enveloped  the  instruments  of  death  in  a 
thick  cloud  of  bluish  smoke,  describing  a  pattern  of  inter- 
twining lines.  When  the  light  wind  had  borne  away  the 
fumes  of  incense,  the  guns  were  given  out  again  in  order.  Each 
man  knelt  to  receive  his  weapon  from  the  hands  of  the  priests, 
who  recited  a  prayer  in  Latin  as  they  returned  it  to  him. 
When  every  armed  man  had  returned  to  his  place,  the  intense 
enthusiasm  (hitherto  mute)  which  possessed  the  congregation 
broke  out  in  a  tremendous  yet  touching  manner — 

'•  D online  salvum  fac  regent  ! ' ' 

This  was  the  prayer  that  the  preacher  thundered  forth  in  an 
echoing  voice,  and  which  was  sung  twice  through  with  vehe- 
ment excitement.  There  was  something  wild  and  warlike 
about  the  sounds  of  their  voices.  The  two  notes  of  the  word 
regent,  which  the  peasants  readily  comprehended,  were  taken 
with  such  passionate  force  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  not 
prevent  her  thoughts  from  straying  with  emotion  to  the  exiled 
family  of  Bourbons.  These  recollections  awoke  others  of  her 
own  past  life.    Her  memory  brought  back  festive  scenes  at  the 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROIV.  259 

court  where  she  herself  had  shone  conspicuous,  a  court  now 
scattered  abroad.  The  form  of  the  Marquis  glided  into  her 
musings.  She  forgot  the  picture  before  her  eyes ;  and  with 
the  sudden  transition  of  thought  natural  to  women's  minds, 
her  scheme  of  vengeance  recurred  to  her,  a  scheme  for  which 
she  was  about  to  risk  her  life,  and  yet  a  single  glance  might 
bring  it  to  naught.  She  meditated  how  to  appear  at  her  best, 
at  this  supreme  moment  of  her  career,  and  remembered  that 
she  had  no  ornaments  with  which  to  deck  her  hair  for  this 
ball.  A  spray  of  holly  at  once  attracted  her  attention,  and 
the  thought  of  a  wreath  of  its  curling  leaves  and  scarlet  berries 
carried  her  away. 

"  Aha  !  "  said  Galope-Chopine,  wagging  his  head  to  show 
his  satisfaction.  "My  gun  may  hang  fire  when  I  am  after 
birds,  but  when  I  am  after  the  Blues — never !  " 

Marie  looked  more  closely  at  her  guide's  countenance,  and 
saw  that  it  was  on  the  same  pattern  as  all  the  others  which  she 
had  just  seen.  There  seemed  to  be  fewer  ideas  expressed  in 
the  old  Chouan's  face  than  in  that  of  a  child.  His  cheeks 
and  forehead  were  puckered  with  unconcealed  joy  as  he  looked 
at  his  gun  ;  religious  conviction  had  infused  an  element  of 
fanaticism  into  his  elation,  so  that,  for  a  moment,  the  worst 
propensities  of  civilization  seemed  to  be  manifested  in  his 
barbarous  features. 

They  very  soon  reached  a  village,  that  is  to  say,  a  collection 
of  four  or  five  dwellings,  like  Galope-Chopine's  own.  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  was  finishing  a  breakfast,  composed  solely  of 
bread  and  butter  and  dairy  produce,  when  the  newly-recruited 
Chouans  arrived.  The  rector  headed  these  irregular  troops, 
bearing  in  his  hands  a  rough  crucifix  transformed  into  a 
banner,  and  followed  by  a  gars,  who  was  full  of  pride  at  assist- 
ing to  carry  the  parish  standard.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  perforce 
found  herself  included  in  this  detachment,  which  was  on  its 
way  to  St.  James,  and  consequently  protected  from  dangers 
of  all  kinds ;  for  Galope-Chopine  had  been  happily  inspired 


260  THE    CHOUANS. 

to  make  an  indiscreet  avowal  to  the  leader  of  the  troop — how 
that  the  pretty  garce  whom  he  was  escorting  was  a  good  friend 
to  the  Gars. 

It  was  growing  towards  sunset  when  the  three  travelers 
reached  Saint  James,  a  little  town  which  owes  its  name  to  the 
English,  by  whom  it  was  built  in  the  fourteenth  century,  dur- 
ing the  time  of  their  rule  in  Brittany.  Before  they  entered 
it,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  beheld  a  curious  scene  of  warfare,  to 
which  she  gave  but  little  heed,  for  she  was  afraid  that  some  of  her 
enemies  might  recognize  her,  and  the  fear  quickened  her  pace. 
Five  or  six  thousand  peasants  were  bivouacking  in  a  field. 
There  was  no  suggestion  of  war  about  their  costumes,  which 
were  not  unlike  those  of  the  requisitionaires  on  La  Pelerine; 
on  the  contrary,  the  disorderly  assemblage  of  men  resembled 
a  huge  hiring-fair.  A  careful  scrutiny  was  required  to  ascer- 
tain whether  or  not  the  Bretons  carried  arms  at  all ;  for 
their  guns  were  almost  hidden  by  the  goatskins  of  various 
patterns  that  they  wore,  and  in  many  cases  the  most  con- 
spicuous weapons  were  the  scythes  with  which  they  had  re- 
placed the  muskets  that  had  been  distributed  among  them. 
Some  were  eating  and  drinking,  some  were  brawling  and 
fighting,  but  the  greater  number  were  lying  asleep  upon  the 
ground.  There  was  no  sign  or  trace  of  order  or  of  disci- 
pline. An  officer  in  a  red  uniform  attracted  Mile,  de  Ver- 
neuil's  attention  ;  she  thought  that  he  must  belong  to  the 
English  army.  Further  on,  two  other  officers  appeared  to  be 
bent  on  teaching  a  few  of  the  Chouans,  who  seemed  to  be 
quicker-wit  ted  than  their  fellows,  how  to  handle  a  couple 
of  cannon,  of  which  the  whole  artillery  of  the  future  Royalist 
army  appeared  to  consist. 

The  gars  from  Marignay  were  recognized  by  their  standard, 
and  welcomed  with  uproarious  yells.  Under  cover  of  the 
bustle  made  in  the  camp  by  the  arrival  of  the  troop  and  its 
rectors.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  able  to  make  her  way  across  it, 
and  into  the  town  in  safety.     She  reached  an  unpretentious 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  261 

inn,  at  no  great  distance  from  the  house  where  the  ball  was 
to  be  given.  The  town  was  so  crowded  with  people  that, 
after  the  greatest  imaginable  difficulty,  she  could  only  succeed 
in  obtaining  a  wretched  little  room.  When  she  had  taken 
possession  of  it,  and  Galope-Chopine  had  given  over  the  box 
that  carried  her  mistress'  costume  into  Francine's  keeping,  he 
stood  waiting  and  hesitating  in  a  manner  that  cannot  be 
described.  At  any  other  time  Mile,  de  Verneuil  would  have 
been  diverted  by  the  spectacle  of  the  Breton  peasant  out  of 
his  own  parish ;  but  now  she  broke  the  charm  by  drawing 
from  her  purse  four  crowns  of  six  francs  each  which  she 
handed  over  to  him. 

"Take  them  !"  said  she  to  Galope-Chopine;  "and  if  you 
wish  to  oblige  me,  you  will  return  at  once  to  Fougeres  with- 
out tasting  cider,  or  passing  through  the  camp." 

The  Chouan,  in  amazement  at  such  open-handedness,  was 
looking  alternately  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil  and  at  the  four  crowns 
which  he  had  received,  but  she  dismissed  him  with  a  wave 
of  the  hand,  and  he  vanished. 

"How  can  you  send  him  away,  mademoiselle ?"  asked 
Francine.  "Did  you  not  see  how  the  town  is  surrounded? 
How  are  we  to  leave  it,  and  who  will  protect  us  while  here 
and  guide  us  back  ?  " 

"  Have  you  not  a  protector  of  your  own?"  said  Mile,  de 
Verneuil,  with  a  low  mocking  whistle,  after  the  manner  of 
Marche-a-Terre,  whose  ways  she  tried  to  mimic. 

Francine  blushed  and  smiled  sadly  at  her  mistress'  high 
spirits. 

"  But  where  \% your  protector?  "  she  said. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  rapidly  drew  out  her  dagger  and  showed 
it  to  the  frightened  Breton  maid,  who  sank  down  in  a  chair 
and  clasped  her  hands. 

"What  have  you  come  to  look  for  here,  Marie?"  she  ex- 
claimed ;  there  was  a  note  of  entreaty  in  her  voice  which 
called  for  no  response.     Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  absorbed  in 


262  THE   CHOUANS. 

bending  and  twisting  the  sprays  of  holly  which  she  had  gath- 
ered ;  she  said — 

**  I  am  not  sure  that  the  holly  will  look  very  pretty  in  my 
hair.  Only  a  face  as  radiant  as  mine  could  bear  such  a  sombre 
adornment.     What  do  you  think,  Francine  ?  " 

Such  remarks  as  this,  made  many  times  in  the  course  of  her 
toilet,  showed  that  her  mind  was  absolutely  free  from  pre- 
occupation. Any  one  who  had  overheard  this  strange  girl 
would  hardly  have  believed  in  the  gravity  of  the  crisis  in 
which  she  was  risking  her  life. 

A  somewhat  short  gown  of  Indian  muslin  revealed  the  del- 
icate outlines  of  her  figure,  to  which  it  clung  like  damp  linen. 
Over  this  she  wore  a  red  overskirt,  with  innumerable  drooping 
folds,  that  fell  gradually  lower  and  lower  towards  one  side, 
thus  preserving  the  graceful  outlines  of  tlie  Greek  chiton. 
The  sensuous  beauty  of  this  garb  of  a  pagan  priestess  made 
the  costume,  a  costume  which  the  fashion  of  those  days  per- 
mitted women  to  wear,  less  indelicate ;  and,  as  a  further 
palliation,  Marie  wound  gauze  about  her  white  shoulders 
which  the  low  lines  of  the  tunic  had  left  too  bare.  She 
knotted  up  the  long  locks  of  her  hair  at  the  back  of  her  head 
in  the  irregular  flattened  cone  that,  by  apparently  adding 
length  to  the  head,  lends  such  charm  to  the  faces  of  classical 
statues ;  reserving  for  her  forehead  a  few  long  curls  that  fell 
on  either  side  of  her  face  in  shining  coils.  Thus  robed,  and 
with  her  hair  arranged  thus,  her  resemblance  to  the  greatest 
masterpieces  of  the  Greek  chisel  was  complete.  She  saw  how 
every  detail  in  the  disposition  of  her  hair  set  off  the  love- 
liness of  her  face,  with  a  smile  that  denoted  her  approval ; 
then  she  crowned  herself  with  the  wreath  of  holly  which  she 
had  twisted. 

The  red  color  of  her  tunic  was  repeated  in  her  hair 
with  the  happiest  effect  by  the  thick  clusters  of  scarlet 
berries.  As  she  twisted  back  a  few  of  the  leaves  so  as  to 
secure   a   fanciful   contrast   between   their   upper  and  under 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A  MORROW.  263 

sides.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  flung  a  glance  over  herself  in  the 
mirror,  criticising  the  general  effect  of  her  toilet. 

"  I  am  hideous  to-night,"  she  exclaimed,  as  though  she  had 
been  surrounded  by  flatterers.  **  I  look  like  a  statue  of 
Liberty." 

She  was  careful  to  set  her  dagger  in  her  corset,  leaving  the 
ruby-ornamented  hilt  protruding,  so  that  the  crimson  gleams 
might  draw  the  eye  to  the  beauties  which  her  rival  had  so 
unworthily  profaned.  Francine  could  not  reconcile  herself 
to  parting  from  her  mistress.  When  she  was  quite  ready  to 
start,  the  maid  was  ready  to  accompany  her,  finding  an 
excuse  in  the  difficulties  that  women  necessarily  encounter  in 
going  to  a  dance  in  a  little  town  in  Lower  Brittany.  Would 
she  not  be  required  to  uncloak  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  to  take  off" 
the  overshoes  which  the  filthy  condition  of  the  streets  had 
rendered  imperative  (albeit  sand  had  been  laid  down),  and  to 
remove  the  gauze  veil  that  her  mistress  had  wound  about  her 
head,  so  as  to  screen  herself  from  the  curious  eyes  of  the 
Chouans,  who  had  been  drawn  by  curiosity  to  surround  the 
house  where  the  dance  was  taking  place  ?  The  crowd  was  so 
dense  that  they  went  between  two  hedges  of  Chouans. 
Francine  no  longer  tried  to  keep  her  mistress  back.  After 
rendering  the  final  necessary  assistance  demanded  by  a 
toilet  in  which  unruffled  freshness  was  a  first  requirement, 
she  stayed  on  in  the  courtyard.  She  could  not  leave  her  mis- 
tress to  the  chances  of  fate  without  being  at  hand  to  fly  to 
her  assistance,  for  the  poor  Breton  maid  foresaw  nothing  but 
calamities. 

A  strange  scene  was  taking  place  in  Montauran's  room  at 
the  time  of  Marie's  arrival  at  the  festival.  The  young 
Marquis  was  almost  dressed,  and  was  donning  the  broad  red 
ribbon  that  was  to  mark  him  out  as  the  most  important  per- 
sonage among  those  assembled,  when  the  Abbe  Gudin  came 
in  with  an  anxious  face. 

"  Come  quickly,  my  Lord  Marquis,"  said  he.     "You  alone 


284  THE   CHOUANS. 

can  calm  the  storm  that  has  arisen  among  the  chiefs..  I  do 
not  know  what  it  is  all  about.  They  are  talking  of  withdraw- 
ing from  the  King's  service.  It  is  that  devil  of  a  Rifoel  who 
is  the  cause  of  the  trouble,  I  think.  There  is  always  some 
piece  of  foolery  at  the  bottom  of  these  disputes.  They  say 
that  Mme.  du  Gua  upbraided  him  for  coming  to  the  ball  in  an 
unsuitable  dress." 

"  The  woman  must  be  crazy,"  exclaimed  the  Marquis,  "  to 
expect " 

"The  Chevalier  du  Vissard,"  the  Abbe  went  on,  interrupt- 
ing him,  **  retorted  that  if  you  had  given  him  the  money, 
promised  to  him  in  the  King's  name " 

"  Enough,  enough  J  Abb6  !  Now  I  understand  everything. 
The  scene  had  been  got  up  beforehand,  had  it  not !  And  you 
are  their  spokesman " 

"  /,  my  Lord  Marquis?  "  the  Abbe  broke  in  with  yet  an- 
other interruption,  "I  will  support  you  vigorously.  I  hope 
that  you  will  believe,  in  fairness  to  me,  that  the  prospect  of  the 
re-establishment  of  the  altar  throughout  France,  and«of  the 
restoration  of  the  King  to  the  throne  of  his  forefathers,  holds 
out  far  greater  inducements  to  my  humble  efforts  than  that 
Archbishopric  of  Rennes  which  you " 

The  Abbe  dared  not  to  go  any  further,  for  at  these  words 
a  bitter  smile  stole  over  the  lips  of  the  Marquis.  But  the 
young  chief  at  once  suppressed  the  gloomy  reflections  that 
occurred  to  him.  With  austere  brows  he  followed  the  Abbe 
Gudin  into  a  large  room  that  echoed  with  vehement 
clamor. 

"  I  own  the  authority  of  no  one  present,"  Rifoel  was  crying 
out.  He  flung  fiery  glances  on  those  about  him,  and  his  hand 
was  finding  the  way  to  the  hilt  of  his  sabre. 

"Do. you  own  the  authority  of  common  sense?"  asked 
the  Marquis,  coolly.  The  young  Chevalier  du  Vissard,  better 
known  by  his  patronymic  of  Rifoel,  kept  silence  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  general  of  the  Catholic  armies. 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  265 

"  What  is  the  matter  now,  gentlemen  ?  "  the  young  chief 
demanded,  as  he  scanned  tlie  faces  about  him. 

"The  matter,  my  Lord  Marquis,"  replied  a  notorious 
smuggler — embarrassed  at  first  like  a  man  of  the  f)eople  who 
has  long  been  overawed  by  the  prestige  of  a  great  lord,  but  who 
loses  all  sense  of  restraint  the  moment  that  the  boundary  line 
that  separates  the  pair  has  been  overstepped,  because  thence- 
forth he  regards  him  as  their  equal — *'  the  matter  is  that  you 
have  come  in  the  nick  of  time.  I  cannot  talk  in  fine  golden 
words,  so  I  will  put  it  roundly.  I  had  five  hundred  men 
under  me  all  through  the  last  war,  and  since  we  have  taken  up 
arms  again  I  have  managed  to  find,  for  the  King's  service, 
a  thousand  heads  quite  as  hard  as  my  own.  All  along,  for 
seven  years  past,  I  have  been  risking  my  life  in  the  good 
cause  ;  I  do  not  blame  you  at  all,  but  all  work  ought  to  be 
paid  for.  Therefore,  to  begin  with,  I  wish  to  be  called  M.  de 
Cottereau ;  and  I  wish  to  be  requited  by  the  rank  of  colonel, 
otherwise  I  shall  offer  my  submission  to  the  First  Consul.  My 
men  and  I,  you  see,  my  Lord  Marquis,  are  always  dunned  by 
a  cursedly  pressing  creditor  who  must  be  satisfied.  Here  he 
is  !  "  he  added,  striking  his  stomach. 

"  Have  the  fiddles  arrived  ?  "  Montauran  inquired  of  Mme. 
du  Gua  in  caustic  tones. 

But  the  smuggler,  in  his  brutal  way,  had  opened  up  too  all- 
important  a  question  ;  and  these  natures,  as  calculating  as 
ambitious,  had  been  too  long  in  suspense  as  to  their  prospects 
in  the  King's  service  for  the  scene  to  be  cut  short  by  the 
young  leader's  scorn.  The  young  Chevalier  du  Vissard,  in 
his  heat  and  excitement,  sprang  to  confront  Montauran,  and 
seized  his  hand  to  prevent  him  from  turning  away. 

"  Take  care,  my  Lord  Marquis,"  he  said.  "  You  are  treat- 
ing too  lightly  men  who  have  some  claim  to  the  gratitude  of 
him  whom  you  represent  here.  We  are  aware  that  his  majesty 
has  given  you  full  power  to  recognize  the  services  we  have 
rendered,  which  ought  to  be  rewarded  either  in  this  world  or 


266  THE   CHOUANS. 

in  the  next — for  the  scaflFold  is  prepared  for  us  daily.  As  for 
me,  I  am  sure  that  the  rank  of  marechal  de  camp " 

"  Of  colonel,  you  mean  ?  " 

"No,  my  Lord  Marquis,  Charette  made  me  a  colonel. 
My  claim  to  the  rank  I  have  spoken  of  cannot  be  disputed. 
Still  I  am  not  urging  my  own  claims  just  now  in  any  way, 
but  those  of  my  dauntless  brothers  in  arms,  whose  services 
stand  in  need  of  acknowledgment.  Hitherto  your  promises 
and  your  personal  guarantees  have  satisfied  them  ;  "  he  low- 
ered his  voice  as  he  added,  "  and  I  must  say  that  they  are 
easily  contented.  But,"  and  he  raised  his  voice  again, 
"when  the  sun  shall  rise  at  last  in  the  Chateau  of  Versailles 
to  shine  upon  the  happy  days  of  the  monarchy  to  come,  will 
all  the  King's  faithful  servants  in  France,  who  have  aided  the 
King  to  recover  France,  readily  obtain  his  favor  for  their 
families?  Will  their  widows  receive  pensions?  Will  their 
unfortunate  losses  of  property  through  confiscation  be  made 
good  to  them  ?  I  doubt  it.  Therefore,  my  Lord  Marquis, 
will  not  indisputable  proofs  of  past  services  be  useful  then  ! 
It  is  not  that  I  ever  shall  mistrust  the  King  himself,  but  I 
heartily  mistrust  those  cormorants  of  ministers  and  courtiers 
about  him,  who  will  din  a  lot  of  trash  into  his  ears  about  the 
public  good,  the  honor  of  France,  the  interests  of  the  crown, 
and  a  hundred  more  such  things.  They  will  mock  then  a 
loyal  Vendean  or  a  brave  Chouan  because  he  is  aged,  and 
because  the  old  sword  that  once  he  drew  for  the  good  cause 
dangles  against  his  legs,  which  are  shrunken  with  sufferings. 
Can  you  blame  us,  Marquis  ?  " 

"  You  put  it  admirably,  M.  de  Vissard  ;  but  you  have  spoken 
a  little  too  soon,"  replied  Montauran. 

"Listen,  Marquis,"  said  the  Comte  de  Bauvan  in  a  low 
voice,  "upon  my  word,  Rifoel  has  told  us  some  very  true 
things.  You  yourself  are  always  sure  of  access  to  the  King's 
ear ;  but  the  rest  of  us  can  seldom  go  to  see  our  master.  So 
I  tell  you  frankly  that  if  you  do  not  pledge  your  word  as  a 


A   DAY    WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  267 

gentleman  to  obtain  the  post  of  Grand  Master  of  the  Rivers 
and  Forests  of  France  for  me,  when  opportunity  offers,  the 
devil  take  me  if  I  will  risk  my  neck.  It  is  no  small  task  that 
I  am  set — to  conquer  Normandy  for  the  King — so  I  hope  to 
have  the  order  for  it.  But  there  is  time  yet  to  think  about 
that,"  he  added,  blushing.  ''God  forbid  that  I  should 
follow  the  example  of  these  wretches,  and  worry  you.  You 
will  speak  to  the   King  for  me,  and  there  is  an  end  of  it." 

Each  of  the  chiefs  by  some  more  or  less  ingenious  device 
found  means  to  inform  the  Marquis  of  the  extravagant 
reward  which  he  expected  for  his  services.  One  modestly 
asked  for  the  governorship  of  Brittany,  another  for  a  bar- 
onetcy, one  demanded  promotion,  and  another  a  command  ; 
while  one  and  all  of  them  desired  pensions. 

"  Well,  Baron,"  the  Marquis  said,  addressing  M.  duGuenic, 
"  do  you  really  wish  for  nothing  ?  " 

"  Faith,  Marquis,  these  gentlemen  have  left  nothing  for  me 
but  the  crown  of  France ;  but  I  could  readily  manage  to  put 
up  with  that " 

"Gentlemen!"  thundered  the  Abbe  Gudin.  "Consider 
this,  that  if  you  are  so  eager  in  the  day  of  victory,  you  will 
spoil  everything.  Will  not  the  King  be  compelled  to  make 
concessions  to  the  Revolutionaires  ?  " 

"  What  !  to  the  Jacobins?  "  exclaimed  the  smuggler.  "  Let 
the  King  leave  that  to  me  !  I  will  undertake  to  set  my  thou- 
sand men  to  hang  them,  and  we  shall  very  soon  be  rid  of 
them " 

"  M.  de  Cottereau,"  said  the  Marquis,  "I  see  that  several 
invited  guests  are  arriving.  We  must  vie  with  each  other  in 
assiduity  and  zeal,  so  as  to  determine  them  to  take  part  in  our 
sacred  enterprise.  You  understand  that  the  present  moment 
is  not  a  time  to  consider  your  demands,  even  if  they  were 
just." 

The  Marquis  went  towards  the  door  as  he  spoke,  as  if  to 
welcome  some  nobles  from  the  neighboring  districts,  of  whom 


268  THE    CUOUANS. 

he  had  caught  sight,  but  the  bold  smuggler  intercepted  him 
deferentially  and  respectfully. 

"No!  no!  my  Lord  Marquis,  excuse  me,  but  in  1793  the 
Jacobins  taught  us  too  thoroughly  that  it  is  not  the  reaper 
who  gets  the  bannock.  If  you  put  your  name  to  this  scrap 
of  paper,  I  will  bring  you  fifteen  'hundred  gars  to-morrow ; 
otherwise,  I  shall  treat  with  the  First  Consul." 

The  Marquis  looked  haughtily  around,  and  saw  that  the 
onlookers  at  the  debate  regarded  the  audacity  and  resolution 
of  the  old  free-lance  with  no  unfavorable  eyes.  One  man 
only,  seated  in  a  corner,  appeared  to  take  no  part  wliatever 
in  what  was  going  on,  but  was  employed  in  filling  a  white  clay 
pipe  with  tobacco.  The  contempt  that  he  visibly  showed  for 
the  orators,  his  unassuming  manner,  and  the  commisseraiion 
for  himself  which  the  Marquis  read  in  the  man's  eyes,  made 
him  look  closely  at  this  magnanimous  adherent,  in  whom  he 
recognized  Major  Brigaut.  The  chief  went  quickly  up  to 
him,  and  said — 

"  How  about  you  ?     What  do  you  ask  for  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  my  Lord  Marquis,  if  the  King  comes  back  again,  I 
shall  be  quite  satisfied." 

"  But  for  you  yourself?  " 

*'  For  me  ?     Oh  !     You  are  joking,  my  lord." 

The  Marquis  pressed  the  Breton's  hard  hand,  and  spoke  to 
Mme.  du  Gua,  by  whom  he  was  standing.  "  Madame,  I  may 
lose  my  life  in  this  undertaking  of  mine  before  I  have  had 
time  to  send  the  King  a  faithful  report  of  the  Catholic  armies 
in  Brittany.  If  you  should  see  the  days  of  the  Restoration, 
do  not  forget  either  this  brave  fellow  nor  the  Baron  du  Guenic, 
There  is  more  devotion  in  these  two  than  in  all  the  other 
people  here." 

He  indicated  the  chiefs  who  were  waiting,  not  without  im- 
patience, till  the  youthful  Marquis  should  comply  with  their 
demands.  Papers  were  displayed  in  every  hand,  in  which, 
doubtless  their  services  in  previous  wars  had  been  recorded  by 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  269 

Royalist  generals ;  and  one  and  all  began  to  murmur.  The 
Abbe  Gudin,  the  Gomte  de  Bauvan,  and  the  Baron  du  Guenic 
were  taking  counsel  in  their  midst,  as  to  the  best  means  of 
assisting  the  Marquis  to  reject  such  extravagant  claims,  for  in 
their  opinion  the  young  leader's  position  was  a  very  difficult 
one. 

.  There  was  a  sarcastic  light  in  the  blue  eyes  of  the  Marquis 
as  he  suddenly  gazed  about  him  on  those  assembled,  and 
spoke  in  clear  tones — 

"  Gentlemen,  I  do  not  know  whether  the  powers  which  the 
King  has  vouchsafed  to  me  are  comprehensible  enough  to 
permit  of  my  fulfilling  your  demands.  He  possibly  did  not 
foresee  such  zeal  and  such  devotion  as  yours.  You  yourselves 
shall  decide  as  to  my  duties,  and  perhaps  I  may  be  able  to 
perform  them." 

He  went  and  returned  promptly  with  a  letter  lying  open  in 
his  hand,  ratified  by  the  royal  signature  and  seal. 

"These  are  the  letters  patent  by  virtue  of  which  you  owe 
me  obedience,"  said  he.  "  They  empower  me  to  govern  in 
the  King's  name  the  province  of  Brittany,  Normandy,  Maine, 
and  Anjou  ;  and  to  acknowledge  the  services  of  the  officers 
that  shall  distinguish  themselves  in  his  majesty's  armies. 

An  evident  thrill  of  satisfaction  went  through  those  assem- 
bled. The  Chouans  came  up  and  respectfully  formed  a  circle 
about  the  Marquis.  All  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  King's  signa- 
ture, when  the  young  chi'ef,  who  was  standing  by  the  hearth, 
flung  the  letter  into  the  fire,  where  it  was  burned  to  ashes  in  a 
moment. 

"  I  will  no  longer  command  any  but  those  who  see  in  the 
King,  a  King  ;  and  not  a  prey  for  them  to  devour.  Gentle- 
men, you  are  at  liberty  to  leave  me " 

A  cry  of  "  Long  live  the  King  !  "  went  up  from  Mme.  du 
Gua,  the  Abbe  Gudin,  Major  Brigaut,  the  Chevalier  du  Vis- 
sard,  the  Baron  du  Guenic,  and  the  Comte  de  Bauvan.  If,  in 
the  first  instance,  the  other  chiefs  wavered  a  moment  before 


270  THE   CHOUANS. 

eclioing  the  cry  of  these  enthusiasts ;  the  Marquis*  noble  ac- 
tion soon  produced  an  effect  upon  them  ;  they  besought  him 
to  forget  what  had  happened,  and  protested  that,  no  matter 
for  letters  patent,  he  should  always  be  their  leader. 

"  Come,  let  us  dance  !  "  cried  the  Comtede  Bauvan,  "and 
happen  what  may  !  After  all,"  he  added,  merrily,  *'  it  is  bet- 
ter praying  to  God  than  to  the  saints.  Let  us  fight  first,  and 
by-and-by  we  shall  see." 

"Ah!  that  is  quite  true.  Begging  your  pardon,  Baron," 
said  Brigaut,  speaking  in  a  low  voice  to  the  staunch  du  Gu6nic, 
"  I  have  never  seen  a  day's  wage  asked  for  in  the  morning." 

The  company  distributed  themselves  through  the  rooms, 
where  several  people  had  already  come  together.  In  vain  the 
Marquis  tried  to  dismiss  the  sombre  expression  which  had 
wrought  a  change  in  his  face  ;  the  chiefs  could  easily  dis- 
cern that  the  foregoing  scene  had  left  an  unfortunate  impression 
on  the  mind  of  the  man  who  still  united  some  of  the  fair 
illusions  of  youth  with  his  devotion  to  the  cause ;  and  this 
shamed  them. 

The  assemblage,  composed  of  the  most  enthusiastic  partisans 
of  royalty,  was  radiant  with  intoxicating  joy.  In  the  remote  parts 
of  a  rebellious  province  they  had  never  had  an  opportunity  of 
forming  just  opinions  as  to  the  events  of  the  Revolution,  and 
had  to  take  the  most  visionary  assumptions  for  solid  realities. 
Their  courage  had  been  stimulated  by  Montauran's  bold  initial 
measures,  by  his  fortune  and  ability,  and  by  the  name  he  bore, 
all  of  which  had  combined  to  cause  that  most  perilous  form  of 
intoxication  —  the  intoxication  of  politics — which  is  only 
abated  after  torrents  of  blood  have  been  shed,  and  for  the 
most  part,  shed  in  vain.  The  Revolution  was  only  a  passing 
disturbance  in  France  for  all  those  who  were  present ;  and  for 
them  nothing  appeared  to  be  changed.  The  districts  about 
them  held  to  the  house  of  Bourbon.  So  complete  was  the 
domination  of  the  Royalists,  that  four  years  previously  Hoche 
had  brought  about  an  armistice  rather  than  a  peace. 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A  MORROW.  271 

The  nobles,  therefore,  held  the  Revolutionaires  very  cheap ; 
they  took  Bonaparte  for  a  Marceau,  who  had  had  better  luck 
than  his  predecessor.  And  the  ladies  prepared  to  dance,  in 
high  spirits.  Only  a  few  of  the  chiefs  who  had  met  the  Blues 
in  the  field  were  aware  of  the  real  gravity  of  the  crisis,  and 
they  knew  that  they  should  be  misunderstood  if  they  spoke  of 
the  First  Consul  and  his  power  to  their  countrymen  who  were 
behind  the  times.  So  they  talked  among  themselves,  turning 
indifferent  eyes  upon  the  ladies,  who  avenged  themselves  by 
criticising  them  to  each  other.  Mme.  du  Gua,  who  appeared 
to  be  doing  the  honors  of  the  ball,  tried  to  distract  the  atten- 
tion of  the  ladies  from  their  impatience  by  retailing  conven- 
tional flatteries  to  each  in  turn.  The  harsh  sounds  of  the 
tuning  of  the  instruments  were  already  audible,  when  Mme. 
du  Gua  saw  the  Marquis,  with  a  trace  of  melancholy  still 
about  his  face.     She  hurried  to  him,  and  said —  \ 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  depressed  by  the  scene  you  have  had 
with  those  boors?     It  is  a  very  commonplace  occurrence." 

She  received  no  reply.  The  Marquis  was  absorbed  in  his 
musings.  He  thought  that  he  heard  some  of  the  arguments 
that  Marie  had  urged  upon  him  in  her  prophetic  tones  among 
these  very  chiefs  at  the  Vivetiere — when  she  had  tried  to  in- 
duce him  to  abandon  the  struggle  of  kings  against  peoples. 
But  he  had  too  much  loftiness  of  soul,  too  much  pride,  and 
possibly  too  strong  a  belief  in  the  work  that  he  had  begun,  to 
forsake  it  now ;  and  he  resolved  at  that  moment  to  carry  it  on 
with  a  stout  heart,  in  spite  of  obstacles.  He  raised  his  head 
again  proudly,  and  the  meaning  of  Mme.  du  Gua's  words  only 
then  reached  him. 

"You  are  at  Fougeres,  of  course  !  "  she  was  saying  with  a 
bitterness  that  betrayed  the  futility  of  the  attempts  she  had 
made  to  divert  his  mind.  "Ah  !  my  lord,  I  would  give  all 
the  life  in  me  to  put  her  into  your  hands,  and  to  see  you 
happy  with  her." 

" Then  why  did  you  fire  at  her  so  dexterously? " 


272  THE    CHOUANS. 

"  Because  I  wished  her  either  dead  or  in  your  arms.  Yes  ! 
I  could  have  given  my  love  to  the  Marquis  of  Montauran  on 
the  day  when  I  thought  that  I  discerned  a  hero  in  him.  To- 
day I  have  for  him  only  a  compassionate  friendship ;  he  is  held 
aloof  from  glory  by  the  roving  heart  of  an  opera  girl." 

"As  to  love,"  the  Marquis  answered  with  irony  in  his  tones, 
"  you  are  quite  wrong  about  me !  If  I  loved  that  girl, 
madame,  I  should  feel  less  desire  for  her — and,  but  for  you,  I 
should  even  now  possibly  think  no  more  of  her." 

"  Here  she  is  !  "  said  Mme.  du  Gua  suddenly. 

The  haste  with  which  the  Marquis  turned  his  head  gave  a 
horrible  pang  to  the  poor  lady  j  but  by  the  brilliant  light  of 
the  candles  the  slightest  changes  that  took  place  in  the  features 
of  the  man  whom  she  so  ardently  loved  were  easily  discerned,  so 
that  she  fancied  she  saw  some  hopes  of  a  return,  when  he 
turned  his  face  back  to  hers,  with  a  smile  at  this  feminine 
stratagem. 

"  At  what  are  you  laughing?"  asked  the  Comte  de  Bauvan. 

"At  a  soap-bubble  that  has  burst !  "  Mme.  du  Gua  replied 
gaily.  **  If  we  are  to  believe  the  Marquis,  he  wonders  to-day 
that  his  heart  ever  beat  for  a  moment  for  the  creature  who 
calls  herself  Mile,  de  Verneuil.     You  know  whom  I  mean?" 

"  The  creature?"  queried  the  Count,  with  reproach  in  his 
voice.  It  is  only  right,  madame,  that  the  author  of  the  mis- 
chief should  make  reparation  for  it,  and  I  give  you  my  word 
of  honor  that  she  really  is  the  daughter  of  the  Due  de  Ver- 
neuil." 

"Which  word  of  honor.  Count?"  asked  the  Marquis  in  an 
entirely  different  tone.  "  Are  we  to  believe  you  at  the  Vive- 
tiere  or  here  at  Saint  James?" 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  announced  in  a  loud  voice.  The 
Count  hurried  towards  the  door,  offered  his  hand  with  every 
sign  of  the  deepest  respect  to  the  fair  newcomer,  and  led  her 
through  tlie  curious  throng  of  gazers  to  the  Marquis  and 
Mme.  du  Gua. 


A   DAY    WITHOUT  A    MORROW.  273 

"Believe  nothing  but  the  word  I  have  given  you  to-day," 
he  said  to  the  astonished  chief. 

Mme.  du  Gua  turned  pale  at  the  untoward  reappearance  of 
the  girl  who  was  standing  looking  proudly  about  her,  to  dis- 
cover, among  those  assembled,  the  former  guests  at  the  Vive- 
tidre.  She  waited  to  receive  her  rival's  constrained  greeting; 
and,  without  a  glance  at  the  Marquis,  she  allowed  the  Count 
to  lead  her  to  a  place  of  honor  by  the  side  of  Mme.  du  Gua, 
to  whom  she  bowed  slightly  in  a  patronizing  way.  The  latter 
would  not  be  vexed  at  this,  and  her  woman's  instinct  led  her 
at  once  to  assume  a  friendly  and  smiling  expression.  For  a 
moment  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  beauty  and  singular  costume 
drew  a  murmur  from  the  company.  When  the  Marquis  and 
Mme.  du  Gua  looked  at  those  who  had  been  at  the  Vivetiere, 
they  saw  that  the  respectful  attitude  of  each  one  seemed  to  be 
sincere,  and  that  every  one  appeared  to  be  considering  how 
to  reinstate  himself  in  the  good  graces  of  the  Parisian  lady, 
concerning  whom  they  had  been  in  error.  The  two  antag- 
onists were  now  face  to  face. 

"  But  this  is  witchcraft,  mademoiselle  !  Who  but  you  in 
all  the  world  could  take  us  by  surprise  like  this?  Did  you 
really  come  hither  quite  alone?  "  asked  Mme.  du  Gua. 

"  Quite  alone,"  Mile,  de  Verneuil  repeated,  "so  this  even- 
ing, madame,  you  will  have  only  me  to  kill." 

'*  Make  allowances  for  me,"  answered  Mme.  du  Gua.  "I 
cannot  tell  you  how  much  pleasure  I  feel  at  meeting  you  again. 
I  have  been  really  overwhelmed  by  the  recollection  of  the 
wrong  I  did  you,  and  I  was  seeking  for  an  opportunity  which 
should  permit  me  to  atone  for  it." 

"  The  wrong  you  did  me,  madame,  I  can  readily  pardon ; 
but  the  death  of  the  Blues  whom  you  murdered  lies  heavily 
on  my  heart.  I  might,  moreover,  make  some  further  com- 
plaint of  the  brusque  style  of  your  correspondence.  But, 
after  all,  I  forgive  everything,  on  account  of  the  service  that 
you  have  done  me." 
18 


274  THE   CHOUANS. 

Mme.  du  Gua  lost  countenance  as  she  felt  her  hand  clasped 
in  that  of  her  lovely  rival,  who  was  smiling  upon  her  in  an 
offensively  gracious  manner.  The  Marquis  had  not  stirred  so 
far,  but  now  he  seized  the  Count's  arm  in  a  close  grip. 

"You  have  shamefully  deceived  me,"  he  said.  "You 
have  even  involved  my  honor ;  I  am  no  comedy  dupe  ;  I 
will  have  your  life  for  this,  or  you  shall  have  mine." 

"  I  am  ready  to  afford  you  every  explanation  that  you  may 
desire,  Marquis,"  said  the  Count  stiffly,  and  they  went  into 
an  adjoining  room.  Even  those  who  were  least  acquainted 
with  the  mystery  underlying  this  scene  began  to  understand 
the  interest  that  it  possessed ;  so  that  no  one  stirred  when  the 
violins  gave  the  signal  for  the  dancing  to  begin. 

Mme.  du  Gua  spoke,  compressing  her  lips  in  a  kind  of 
fury — 

"Mademoiselle,  what  service  can  I  have  had  the  honor  of 
rendering,  of  importance  sufficient  to  deserve ?" 

"  Did  you  not  enlighten  me,  madame,  as  to  the  Marquis  de 
Montauran's  real  nature?  With  what  calm  indifference  the 
execrable  man  allowed  me  to  go  to  my  death  !  I  give  him  up 
to  you  very  willingly." 

"  Then  what  have  you  come  here  to  seek?  "  Mme.  du  Gua 
asked  quickly. 

"  The  esteem  and  the  reputation  of  which  you  robbed  me 
at  the  Vivetiere,  madame.  Do  not  give  yourself  any  uneasi- 
ness about  anything  else.  Even  if  the  Marquis  were  to  come 
back  to  me,  a  lost  love  regained  is  no  love  at  all,  as  you  must 
be  aware." 

Mme.  du  Gua  took  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  hand  in  hers  with 
a  charming  caressing  gesture,  such  as  women  like  to  use 
among  themselves,  especially  when  men  are  also  present. 

"Well,  dear  child,  I  am  delighted  that  you  are  so  sensible 
about  it.  If  the  service  which  I  have  rendered  you  has  been 
a  somewhat  painful  one  at  the  outset"  (and  here  she  pressed 
the  hand  which  she  held,  though  she  felt  within  her  a  wild 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  275 

longing  to  tear  it  in  pieces,  when  she  found  how  delicately 
soft  the  fingers  were),  "at  any  rate  it  shall  be  thorough. 
Just  listen  to  me.  I  know  the  Gars'  nature  well,"  she  went 
on,  with  a  treacherous  smile  ;  "he  would  have  deceived  you, 
he  will  not  marry  any  woman,  nor  can  he  do  so. 

"Ah!" 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle.  He  only  accepted  his  perilous  mis- 
sion in  order  to  win  the  hand  of  Mile.  d'Uxelles;  his 
majesty  has  promised  to  use  all  his  influence  to  bring  the 
marriage  about." 

"Indeed!" 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  added  not  a  word  more  to  this  satirical 
exclamation.  The  young  and  handsome  Chevalier  du  Vis- 
sard,  eager  to  earn  her  forgiveness  for  the  witticism  which  had 
been  a  signal  for  the  insults  that  had  followed  upon  it  at  the 
Vivetiere,  came  up  to  her  and  respectfully  asked  for  a  dance ; 
she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  they  hastened  to  take  their  places 
in  the  same  quadrille  with  Mme.  du  Gua.  The  powdered  or 
frizzled  hair  of  the  other  ladies,  and  their  toilets,  which 
recalled  the  bygone  days  of  the  exiled  court,  looked  ridiculous 
when  confronted  with  the  magnificent  simplicity  of  the 
elegant  costume  which  the  prevailing  fashion  of  the  day  p)er- 
mitted  Mile,  du  Verneuil  to  wear.  The  ladies  condemned  it 
aloud,  and  inwardly  envied  her.  The  men  were  never  weary 
of  admiring  the  effect  of  so  simple  a  way  of  dressing  the 
hair,  and  every  detail  about  her  dress,  which  owed  all  its 
charm  to  the  graceful  outlines  which  it  displayed. 

The  Marquis  and  the  Count  returned  to  the  ballroom,  and 
stood  behind  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  did  not  turn  her  head  ; 
but  even  if  a  mirror  opposite  to  her  had  not  informed  her  of 
the  Marquis'  presence,  she  would  have  learned  it  from  the 
face  of  Mme.  du  Gua,  whose  apparent  carelessness  concealed 
but  illy  the  anxiety  with  which  she  awaited  the  dispute  that 
must  sooner  or  later  take  place  between  the  lovers.  Although 
Montauran  was  talking  with  the  Count  and  with  two  other 


276  THE    CHOUANS. 

persons,  he  could  overhear  the  chat  of  his  neighbors  and  of 
each  pair  of  dancers,  as,  in  the  shifting  figures  of  the  quadrille, 
they  stood  for  a  moment  where  Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  been. 

"  Oh  !  mon  Dieu ;  yes,  madame,  she  came  here  by  herself," 
said  one. 

**  She  must  be  very  fearless,"  his  partner  replied. 

"  If  I  had  dressed  myself  like  that,  I  should  feel  as  if  I 
had  no  clothes  on,"  said  another  lady. 

"Oh!  the  costume  is  indelicate,"  her  cavalier  answered, 
"  but  she  is  so  pretty,  and  it  is  very  becoming  to  her." 

"  Look  at  her  !  She  dances  so  perfectly  that  it  makes  one 
blush  for  her.  Is  she  not  exactly  like  an  opera  girl?"  the 
envious  lady  inquired. 

"  Do  you  think  that  she  can  have  come  here  to  treat 
with  us  in  the  name  of  the  First  Consul?"  asked  a  third 
lady. 

"  What  a  joke  !  "  said  her  partner. 

**  She  will  scarcely  bring  innocence  with  her  as  a  dowry," 
laughed  the  lady. 

The  Gars  turned  sharply  round  to  see  the  speaker  who  had 
ventured  to  make  such  an  epigram,  and  Mme.  du  Gua  gave 
him  a  look  which  said  distinctly — 

"  You  see  what  they  think  of  her  !  " 

"Madame,"  the  Count  said  jestingly  to  Marie's  enemy, 
**  only  ladies  so  far  have  deprived  her  of  it." 

In  his  heart  the  Marquis  forgave  the  Count  for  all  his 
offences.  He  ventured  to  glance  at  Marie.  Her  loveliness 
was  enhanced,  as  is  nearly  always  the  case  with  women,  by  the 
candle-light.  She  reached  her  place,  her  back  was  turned 
towards  him,  but  as  she  talked  with  her  partner  the  persuasive 
tones  of  her  voice  reached  the  Marquis. 

**  The  First  Consul  is  sending  us  very  formidable  ambassa- 
dors !  "  her  partner  remarked. 

"That  has  been  said  already,  sir,  at  the  Vivetiere,"  she 
replied. 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  277 

''  Your  memory  is  as  good  as  the  King's  !  "  relumed  the 
gentleman,  vexed  at  his  own  awkwardness. 

"Offences  must  be  clearly  kept  in  mind  if  they  are  to  be 
forgiven,"  she  said  quickly,  and  a  smile  released  him  from  his 
predicament. 

"Are  all  of  us  included  in  the  amnesty!  "  the  Marquis 
asked.  But  she  flung  herself  into  the  dance  with  childish 
enthusiasm,  leaving  him  confused,  and  with  his  question 
unanswered.  She  saw  how  he  was  watching  her  in  sullen 
gloom,  and  bent  her  head  in  a  coquettish  manner,  which  dis- 
played the  symmetry  of  her  neck,  heedful,  at  the  same  time, 
to  omit  no  movement  which  could  reveal  the  wonderful  grace 
of  her  form.  Marie's  beauty  was  attractive  as  hope,  and 
elusive  as  memory.  To  see  her  thus  was  to  wish  to  possess 
her  at  any  cost.  She  knew  this,  and  the  consciousness  of  her 
own  beauty  made  her  face  at  that  moment  radiant  with  inde- 
scribable loveliness.  The  Marquis  felt  a  tempest  of  love, 
anger,  and  madness  raging  in  his  heart ;  he  wrung  the  Count's 
hand,  and  withdrew. 

"Ah  !  has  he  gone  away?  "  asked  Mile,  de  Verneuil  when 
she  came  back  to  her  place. 

The  Count  hurried  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  thence 
brought  back  the  Gars,  making  a  significant  gesture  for  the 
lady  to  whom  he  had  extended  his  protection. 

"  He  is  mine  !  "  she  said  within  herself  as  she  studied  the 
Marquis  in  the  mirror ;  his  face  was  somewhat  agitated,  but 
he  was  radiant  with  hope. 

She  received  the  young  chief  ungraciously,  and  did  not 
vouchsafe  a  word  to  him,  but  she  smiled  as  she  turned  away ; 
she  saw  him  so  far  above  the  others,  that  she  felt  proud  of  her 
tyrannous  power  over  him.  Guided  by  an  instinct  that  all 
women  obey  more  or  less,  she  determined  to  make  him  pay 
a  heavy  price  for  a  few  kind  words,  in  order  that  he  might 
learn  their  value.  When  the  quadrille  came  to  an  end,  all 
the  gentlemen  who  had  been  at  the  Vivetiere  came  about 


278  THE   CHOUANS. 

Marie,  each  one  endeavoring  to  obtain  her  forgiveness  for  his 
mistake  by  compliments  more  or  less  neatly  turned.  But  he 
whom  she  would  fain  have  seen  at  her  feet  kept  away  from  her 
little  court. 

"  He  thinks  that  I  love  him  yet,"  she  said  to  herself,  "and 
he  will  not  make  one  among  those  to  whom  I  am  indifferent." 

She  declined  to  dance.  Then,  as  if  the  ball  had  been  given 
in  her  honor,  she  went  from  quadrille  to  quadrille,  leaning 
upon  the  arm  of  the  Comte  de  Bauvan,  with  whom  it  pleased 
her  to  appear  to  be  on  familiar  terms.  There  was  no  one 
present  who  did  not  know  the  whole  history  of  what  had 
happened  at  the  Vivetiere,  down  to  the  smallest  detail,  thanks 
to  Madame  du  Gua,  who  hoped,  by  this  very  publicity  given 
to  the  affairs  of  Mile,  de  Verneuil  and  the  Marquis,  to  put  a 
further  hindrance  to  any  understanding  between  them.  In 
this  way  the  two  estranged  lovers  became  objects  of  general 
interest.  Montauran  did  not  dare  to  approach  her;  the 
recollection  of  her  wrongs  and  the  vehemence  of  his  reawak- 
ened desires  made  her  almost  terrible  in  his  eyes  ;  and  the 
young  girl,  though  she  seemed  to  give  her  attention  to  the 
dancers,  was  watching  his  face  and  its  forced  composure. 

"It  is  dreadfully  hot  in  here,"  she  said  to  her  cavalier. 
"I  see  that  M.  de  Montauran's  forehead  is  quite  damp.  Will 
you  take  me  across  to  the  other  side,  so  that  I  can  breathe  ? 
This  is  stifling." 

With  a  movement  of  the  head,  she  indicated  the  next  room, 
where  a  few  card-players  were  sitting.  The  Marquis  followed 
her,  as  if  he  had  guessed  at  the  words  from  the  movements  of 
her  lips.  He  even  hoped  that  she  had  left  the  crowd  in  order 
to  see  him  once  more,  and  with  this  hope  the  violence  of  his 
passion  grew  with  redoubled  force  after  the  restraint  that  he 
had  imposed  upon  himself  for  the  last  few  days.  It  pleased 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  torment  the  young  chief.  Tliose  eyes  of 
hers,  so  like  velvet,  and  so  gentle  for  the  Count,  became  cold 
and  gloomy  for  him,  if  he  met  their  gaze  by  chance.     Mon- 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORRO W.  279 

tauran  made  an  effort  that  seemed  to  cost  him  something,  and 
said  in  an  uncertain  voice — 

"  Will  you  never  forgive  me  ?  " 

"Love  forgives  nothing  unless  it  forgives  everything,"  she 
said,  in  a  dry,  indifferent  tone.  Then,  as  she  saw  him  give  a 
sudden  start  of  joy,  she  added,  "  but  it  must  be  love." 

She  rose,  took  the  Count's  arm,  and  hastened  to  a  little 
sitting-room  adjoining  the  cardroom.  The  Marquis  followed 
her  thither. 

"  You  shall  hear  me  !  "  he  cried. 

"You  will  make  others  imagine,  sir,"  she  replied,  "that  I 
came  here  on  your  account,  and  not  out  of  respect  for  myself. 
If  you  will  not  desist  from  this  detestable  persecution,  I  shall 

go." 

Then  he  bethought  himself  of  one  of  the  wildest  extrava- 
gances of  the  last  Duke  of  Lorraine.  •*  Let  me  speak  to 
you,"  he  entreated,  "only  for  so  long  as  I  can  keep  this  coal 
in  my  hand." 

He  stooped,  snatched  up  a  firebrand  from  the  hearth,  and 
held  it  in  a  strenuous  grasp.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  reddened,  drew 
her  arm  quickly  from  the  Count,  and  looked  in  amazement  at 
the  Marquis.  The  Count  softly  withdrew  and  left  the  lovers 
alone.  Nothing  is  so  convincing  in  a  lover  as  some  piece  of 
splendid  folly — his  mad  courage  had  shaken  Marie's  very  heart. 

"  You  simply  show  me,"  she  said,  trying  to  compel  him  to 
drop  the  coal,  "  that  you  would  be  capable  of  giving  me  over 
to  the  worst  of  tortures.  You  are  all  for  extremes.  You 
believed  the  evidence  of  a  fool  and  a  woman's  slander ;  you 
suspected  that  she  who  came  to  save  your  life  was  capable  of 
betraying  you." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  I  have  been  cruel  to  you,  but 
you  must  forget  that ; — I  shall  never  forget  it.  Ah  !  hear  me. 
I  was  infamously  deceived ;  but  so  many  things  on  that 
wretched  day  all  told  against  you." 

**  And  those  things  were  enough  to  extinguish  your  love?  " 


280  THE   CHOUANS. 

He  hesitated  a  moment ;  with  a  scornful  movement  she 
rose. 

"Marie,"  he  said,  "just  now,  I  wish  to  believe  you,  and 
you  only." 

"  Then  drop  that  coal !  You  must  be  mad.  Open  your 
hand  ;  do  as  I  wish." 

He  delighted  in  the  feeble  resistance  he  made  to  her  gentle 
efforts ;  he  wanted  to  prolong  the  keen  pleasure  that  he  felt  in 
the  pressure  of  her  little  fingers ;  but  she  succeeded  at  last  in 
opening  the  hand  she  felt  she  could  have  kissed.  The  fire 
had  been  extinguished  in  blood. 

'*  Now,"  she  said,  "  what  was  the  use  of  doing  that  ?  " 

She  tore  little  strips  from  her  handkerchief  and  dressed  the 
wound ;  it  was  not  very  serious,  and  the  Marquis  easily  con- 
cealed it  under  his  glove.  Madame  du  Gua  came  into  the 
card-room  on  tiptoe,  and  furtively  watched  the  lovers,  cleverly 
keeping  herself  out  of  their  sight,  noting  from  beliind  them 
their  slightest  movements;  yet  she  found  it  difficult  to  guess 
at  their  talk  from  anything  that  she  saw  them  do. 

"  If  everything  that  you  have  heard  against  me  were  true, 
admit,  at  least,  that  now  I  am  well  avenged,"  said  Marie; 
there  was  a  malignity  in  her  expression  that  inade  the  Mar- 
quis turn  pale. 

"What  feeling  was  it  that  brought  you  here?"  asked  the 
Marquis. 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  are  a  great  coxcomb.  Do  you  think 
you  can  insult  such  a  woman  as  I  am  with  impunity?  I  came 
here  for  your  sake,  and  for  mine,"  she  added  after  a  pause, 
laying  her  hand  on  the  cluster  of  rubies  at  her  breast,  and 
showing  him  the  blade  of  a  poniard. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  "  meditated  Madame  du  Gua. 

**  But  you  love  me  still,"  Marie  went  on  ;  "  or  at  least,  you 
wish  for  me;  and  that  piece  of  folly  of  yours,"  she  said, 
taking  the  hand  in  hers,  "  made  it  clear  to  me.  I  am  again 
as  I  had  wished  to  be,  and  I  shall  go  away  happy.     Those 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MO R ROW.  281 

who  love  us  we  always  forgive.  And  I — I  am  loved  ;  I  have 
regained  the  respect,  the  man  who  is  for  me  the  whole  world ; 
I  could  die  now." 

"  You  love  me  yet  ?  "  said  the  Marquis. 

"Did  I  say  so?"  she  replied;  she  laughed;  she  was 
happy,  for  ever  since  her  arrival  she  had  made  the  Marquis 
feel  increasing  torment.  "  But  had  I  not  some  sacrifices  to 
make  in  order  to  come  here  ?  For  I  saved  M.  de  Bauvan 
from  death,"  she  went  on,  "  and  he,  more  grateful  than  you, 
has  offered  me  his  name  and  fortune  in  return  for  my  protec- 
tion.    That  idea  never  entered  your  mind." 

Her  last  words  astonished  the  Marquis ;  the  Count  ap- 
peared to  have  made  a  fool  of  him  ;  he  struggled  with  a 
feeling  of  anger  stronger  than  any  that  he  had  yet  known, 
and  did  not  reply. 

"Ah,  you  are  deliberating !  "  she  said,  with  a  bitter  smile. 

"Mademoiselle,  your  misgivings  justify  mine." 

"Let  us  go  back,"  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Madame  du  Gua's  robe  in  the  card-room. 

Marie  rose ;  but  a  wish  to  torment  her  rival  made  her  hesi- 
tate a  little. 

"Do  you  want  to  plunge  me  into  hell?"  asked  the  Mar- 
quis, taking  her  hand  and  holding  it  tightly. 

"Where  did  you  plunge  me  five  days  ago?  And  now, 
now  at  this  moment,  are  you  not  leaving  me  in  cruel  suspense 
as  to  the  sincerity  of  your  love  ?  " 

"  How  do  I  know  that  your  vengeance  may  not  go  so  far  as 
this — to  take  possession  of  my  whole  life,  so  that  you  may 
sully  it,  rather  than  compass  my  death " 

"  Ah,  you  do  not  love  me ;  you  only  think  of  yourself,  and 
not  of  me,"  she  said,  with  angry  tears  in  her  eyes. 

The  coquette  knew  well  the  power  of  those  eyes  of  hers 
when  they  were  drowned  in  tears. 

"  Take  my  life,  then,"  said  the  Marquis,  now  quite  beside 
himself,  '•  but  dry  those  tears." 


282  THE    CHOUANS. 

"  Oh  my  love,"  she  murmured ;  "  the  words,  the  tones,  the 
look  that  I  waited  for,  to  wish  for  thy  happiness  rather  than 
mine.  But  my  lord,"  she  resumed,  "  I  ask  for  one  last  proof 
of  your  affection,  that  you  tell  me  is  so  great.  I  can  stay 
here  only  for  a  little,  only  for  the  time  needed  to  make  sure 
that  you  are  mine.  I  shall  not  take  even  a  glass  of  water  in 
this  house,  where  a  woman  lives  who  has  twice  tried  to  mur- 
der me,  who  at  this  moment  perhaps  is  planning  some  treachery 
against  us  both,  and  who  is  listening  to  us  at  this  moment," 
she  added,  pointing  out  to  the  Marquis  the  floating  folds  of 
Madame  du  Gua's  robe. 

Then  she  dried  her  tears,  and  bent  to  the  ear  of  the  young 
noble,  who  trembled  to  feel  her  soft  breath  on  him. 

"  Prepare  everything  so  that  we  can  go,"  she  said.  "  You 
will  take  me  back  to  Fougeres,  and  there  you  shall  know 
whether  I  love  you  or  not.  For  the  second  time  I  trust  in  you. 
Will  y6u,too,trust  a  second  time  in  me?  " 

**  Ah,  Marie,  you  have  led  me  on  till  I  scarcely  know  what 
I  am  doing.  Your  words,  your  looks,  your  presence  intoxicate 
me.     I  am  ready  to  do  everything  you  wish." 

"Well,  then,  give  me  one  moment's  bliss.  Let  me  enjoy 
the  only  triumph  for  which  I  have  longed.  I  want  to  breathe 
freely  once  more,  to  live  the  life  of  my  dreams,  to  take  my 
fill  of  illusions,  before  they  leave  me.  Let  us  go.  Come  and 
dance  with  me." 

They  went  back  again  together  into  the  ballroom.  For  her 
the  gratification  of  heart  and  of  vanity  had  been  as  complete 
as  a  woman  can  know ;  but  her  inscrutable  soft  eyes,  the  mys- 
terious smile  about  her  mouth,  and  her  swift  movements  in 
the  excited  dance,  kept  the  secret  of  Mile,  de  Verneuil's 
thoughts  as  the  sea  buries  the  secret  of  some  criminal  who 
has  given  a  heavy  corpse  into  its  keeping.  Yet  a  murmur  of 
admiration  went  through  the  room  as  she  turned  to  her  lover's 
arms  for  the  waltz  ;  and  closely  interlocked,  with  drooping 
heads  and  languid  eyes,  they  swayed  voluptuously  round  and 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  283 

round,  clasping  each  other  in  a  kind  of  frenzy,  revealing  all 
their  hopes  of  pleasure  from  a  closer  union. 

"Go  and  see  if  Pille-Miche  is  in  the  camp,  Count,"  said 
Mme.  du  Gua  to  M.  de  Bauvan.  "  Bring  him  to  me  ;  and  for 
this  little  service  you  may  assure  yourself  that  you  shall  receive 
anything  that  you  will  ask  of  me,  even  my  hand. My  re- 
venge will  cost  me  dear,"  she  said,  as  she  saw  him  go ;  "  but 
it  shall  not  fail  this  time." 

"  A  few  moments  after  this  scene  Mile,  de  Verneuil  and  the 
Marquis  were  seated  in  a  berline  drawn  by  four  strong  horses. 
Francine  did  not  utter  a  word.  She  was  surprised  to  see  the 
two  who  to  all  appearance  had  been  foes  now  sitting  hand  in 
hand  and  on  such  good  terms  with  each  other.  She  did  not 
even  venture  to  put  the  question  to  herself  whether  this  meant 
love  or  treachery  on  her  mistress'  part.  Thanks  to  the  stillness 
and  the  darkness  of  night,  the  Marquis  could  not  perceive 
Mile,  de  Verneuil's  agitation,  which  increased  as  she  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  to  Fougeres.  Through  the  faint  dusk  they 
could  see  the  spire  of  St.  Leonard's  church  in  the  distance; 
and  then — "  I  shall  die,"  said  Marie  to  herself 

When  they  reached  the  first  hill  on  the  road,  the  same 
thought  came  to  both  the  lovers ;  they  left  the  carriage,  and 
slowly  walked  up  the  hill,  as  if  in  memory  of  that  first  day 
of  their  meeting. 

Marie  took  Montauran's  arm,  and  thanked  him  by  a  smile 
for  having  respected  her  silence.  When  they  reached  the 
stretch  of  level  ground  at  the  summit,  whence  they  could  see 
Fougeres,  she  emerged  from  her  reverie. 

"  Come  no  further,"  she  said  ,  "my  authority  will  not  save 
you  from  the  Blues  to-day." 

Montauran  showed  some  astonishment  at  this ;  but  she 
smiled  sadly  and  pointed  to  a  massive  boulder,  as  if  to  bid 
him  to  be  seated,  while  she  herself  remained  standing  in  a 
melancholy  attitude.  The  heartrending  grief  within  her 
made  the  artifices  which  she  had  used  so  lavishly  no  longer 


284  THE   CHOUANS. 

possible  to  her.  She  could  have  knelt  on  burning  coals  just 
then,  and  have  been  no  more  conscious  of  them  than  the 
Marquis  had  been  of  the  brand  which  he  had  seized  to  make 
known  the  vehemence  of  his  passion.  After  looking  long  at 
her  lover  with  the  deepest  sorrow  in  her  gaze,  she  pronounced 
the  terrible  words — 

*'  All  your  suspicions  of  me  are  true." 
The  Marquis  made  an  unconscious  movement. 
"Ah!  for  pity's  sake,"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands, 
"  hear  me  to  the  end  without  interrupting  me.  I  am  really 
the  daughter  of  the  Due  de  Verneuil,"  she  went  on  in  an 
unsteady  voice  ;  "  but  I  am  only  his  natural  daughter.  My 
mother,  a  Mile,  de  Casteran,  took  the  veil  to  escape  from  the 
punishment  which  her  family  had  prepared  for  her.  She 
expiated  her  fault  by  fifteen  years  of  weeping,  and  died 
at  Seez.  It  was  only  at  the  last,  when  on  her  deathbed,  that 
the  dear  abbess,  for  my  sake,  sent  an  entreaty  to  the  man 
who  had  forsaken  her ;  for  she  knew  that  I  had  neither 
friends,  nor  fortune,  nor  prospects.  This  man,  who  was  well 
remembered  in  Francine's  home  (for  I  had  been  confided  to 
her  mother's  care),  had  quite  forgotten  his  child.  Yet  the 
Duke  welcomed  me  gladly,  and  recognized  my  claim  upon  him 
because  I  was  pretty,  and  perhaps,  too,  because  I  brought 
back  memories  of  his  younger  days.  He  was  one  of  those 
great  lords  who,  in  the  previous  reign,  took  a  pride  in  show- 
ing how  that,  if  a  crime  were  but  gracefully  perpetrated, 
it  needs  must  be  condoned.  I  will  say  no  more  about  him  ; 
he  was  my  father.  And  yet  you  must  suffer  me  to  explain 
how  my  life  in  Paris  could  not  but  leave  my  mind  tainted. 
In  the  Due  de  Verneuil's  circle,  and  in  the  society  into  which 
he  introduced  me,  there  was  a  craze  for  the  sceptical  philos- 
ophy which  France  had  accepted  with  enthusiasm,  because  it 
was  put  forward  everywhere  with  so  much  ability.  The 
brilliant  talk  that  pleased  my  ears  found  favor  with  me  on 
account  of  the  keenness  of  apprehension  displayed  in  it,  or 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  285 

by  reason  of  the  cleverly-turned  formulas  which  brought  con- 
tempt upon  religion  and  upon  truth.  The  men  who  made 
light  of  feelings  and  opinions  expressed  them  all  the  better 
because  they  had  never  felt  or  held  them  ;  and  their  epigram- 
matic turn  of  expression  was  not  more  attractive  than  the 
lively  ease  with  which  they  could  put  a  whole  story  into  a 
word.  Sometimes,  however,  their  cleverness  misled  them ; 
and  women  found  them  wearisome  when  love-making  became 
a  science  rather  than  an  affair  of  the  heart.  I  made  a  feeble 
resistance  to  this  torrent,  although  my  soul  (forgive  me  for  my 
vanity)  was  impassioned  enough  to  feel  that  esprit  had  with- 
ered all  these  natures  about  me;  the  life  that  I  led  in  those 
days  ended  in  a  chronic  strife  between  my  natural  disposition 
and  the  warped  habits  of  mind  that  I  had  acquired.  A  few 
aspiring  intellects  had  amused  themselves  by  encouraging  me 
in  a  freedom  of  thought  and  a  contempt  for  public  opinion 
that  deprives  a  woman  of  a  certain  reticence,  without  which 
she  has  no  charm.  Alas  !  it  has  not  been  in  the  power  of 
adversity  to  correct  the  defects  which  prosperity  implanted  in 
me,"  and  she  sighed. 

"My  father,  the  Due  de  Verneuil,"  she  resumed,  "died 
after  recognizing  me  as  his  daughter,  leaving  a  will  which 
considerably  diminished  the  estate  of  my  half-brother,  his 
legitimate  son,  in  my  favor.  One  morning  I  found  myself 
without  a  protector  or  a  roof  above  my  head.  My  brother 
disputed  the  will  which  had  enriched  me.  My  vanity  had  been 
developed  during  the  past  three  years  that  had  been  spent  in 
a  wealthy  household.  My  father  had  indulged  all  my  fancies; 
to  him  I  owed  a  craving  for  luxury,  and  habits  in  which  my 
simple  and  inexperienced  mind  failed  to  recognize  a  perilous 
bondage.  The  Marshal  Due  de  Leoncourt,  one  of  my 
father's  friends,  a  man  of  seventy,  offered  to  become  my 
guardian.  I  accepted  his  offer ;  and  a  few  days  after  a  detest- 
able law-suit  had  begun,  I  found  myself  in  a  splendid  house, 
where  I  was  in   full  possession  of  all  the  advantages  that  a 


286  THE   CHOUANS. 

brother's  unkindness  had  refused  to  me  over  our  father's 
coffin.  The  old  Marshal  used  to  come  to  spend  a  few  hours 
with  me  every  evening;  and  from  him  I  heard  only  gentle 
and  soothing  words.  His  white  hair  and  all  the  touching 
proofs  of  paternal  tenderness  which  he  gave  me  led  me  to 
believe  that  the  feelings  of  my  own  heart  were  likewise  his ; 
and  I  liked  to  think  that  I  was  his  daughter.  I  took  the 
ornaments  that  he  gave  to  me,  and  made  no  secret  of  any  of 
my  fancies  when  I  saw  him  so  glad  to  indulge  them.  One 
evening  I  discovered  that  all  Paris  looked  upon  me  as  the 
poor  old  man's  mistress.  It  was  made  clear  to  me  that  I 
could  never  re-establish  my  innocence,  of  which  I  had  been 
groundlessly  deprived.  The  man  who  had  taken  advantage 
of  my  inexperience  could  not  be  my  lover,  and  would  not  be 
my  husband.  In  the  week  in  which  I  made  this  hideous  dis- 
covery, and  on  the  eve  of  the  day  that  had  been  fixed  for  my 
marriage — for  I  had  insisted  that  he  should  give  me  his  name, 
the  one  reparation  that  it  was  in  his  power  to  make  me — he  sud- 
denly started  for  Coblentz.  I  was  ignominiously  driven  from 
the  little  house  in  which  the  Marshal  had  installed  me,  and 
which  was  not  his  own  property.  So  far  I  have  told  the 
truth  to  you  as  if  I  stood  before  the  judgment  throne;  but 
after  this  point  do  not  ask  for  a  complete  list  of  all  the  suffer- 
ings that  lie  buried  in  the  memory  of  an  unhappy  girl.  One 
day,  sir,  I  found  myself  Danton's  wife.  A  few  days  later, 
and  the  great  oak-tree  about  which  I  had  cast  my  arms  was 
uprooted  by  the  tempest.  Then,  when  plunged  for  the  second 
time  into  utter  misery,  I  determined  to  die.  I  do  not  know 
if  it  was  mere  love  of  life,  or  the  hope  of  outwearing  misfor- 
tune, and  so  of  finding  at  last,  in  the  depths  of  this  infinite 
abyss,  the  happiness  that  eluded  my  grasp,  or  by  what  other 
motive  I  was  unconsciously  counseled.  I  know  not  whether  I 
was  led  away  by  the  arguments  of  the  young  man  from  Ven- 
dome,  who,  for  the  past  two  years,  has  hung  about  me  like  a 
serpent  about  a  tree,   thinking,  no  doubt,  that  some  over- 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  287 

whelming  misfortune  may  give  me  to  him.  Indeed,  I  do  not 
know  how  I  came  to  accept  this  hateful  mission,  of  winning 
the  love  of  a  stranger  whom  I  was  to  betray  for  three  hundred 
thousand  francs !  Then  I  saw  you,  sir,  and  I  knew  you  at 
once.  I  knew  it  by  one  of  those  presentiments  that  never 
lead  us  astray ;  and  yet  I  was  glad  to  doubt  it,  for  the  more  I 
loved  you,  the  more  appalling  the  conviction  grew  for  me. 
When  I  rescued  you  from  Hulot's  clutches,  I  foreswore  the  part 
that  I  was  playing ;  I  determined  to  outwit  the  executioners 
instead  of  deceiving  their  victim.  It  was  wrong  of  me  to  play 
in  that  way  with  men's  lives,  and  with  their  schemes,  and 
with  myself,  with  all  the  heedlessness  of  a  girl  who  can  see 
nothing  but  sentiment  in  the  world.  I  thought  that  I  was 
loved,  and  allowed  the  hope  of  beginning  my  life  anew  to  be 
my  guide ;  but  everything  about  me,  and  even  I  myself,  per- 
haps, betrayed  my  lawless  past,  for  you  must  have  mistrusted  a 
woman  with  so  passionate  a  nature  as  mine.  Alas  !  who  could 
refuse  forgiveness  to  me  for  my  love  and  my  dissimulation  ! 
Yes,  sir,  I  felt  as  though,  after  a  long  and  uneasy  sleep,  I  had 
awakened  to  find  myself  a  girl  of  sixteen  again.  Was  I  not 
in  Alen^on  ?  The  pure  and  innocent  memories  of  my  childish 
days  there  rose  up  before  me.  My  wild  credulity  led  me  to 
think  that  love  would  give  me  a  baptism  of  innocence.  For  a 
little  while  I  thought  that  I  was  a  maiden  still,  for  as  yet  I  had 
never  loved.  But  yesterday  evening  it  seemed  to  me  that 
there  was  sincerity  in  your  passion  ;  and  a  voice  within  me 
cried,  'Why  do  you  deceive  him?'  Know  this,  therefore, 
Marquis,"  she  went  on,  in  a  deep,  hard  voice  which  seemed 
proudly  to  demand  her  own  condemnation — "  know  this  for  a 
certainty,  that  I  am  only  a  dishonored  creature  and  unworthy 
of  you.  From  this  moment  I  will  resume  my  role  of  cast- 
away ;  I  am  too  weary  to  sustain  any  longer  the  part  of  the 
woman  whom  you  had  led  to  yield  herself  to  all  the  most 
sacred  impulses  of  her  heart.  Virtue  weighs  me  down;  I 
should  despise  you  if  you  were  weak  enough  to  marry  me.     A 


288  THE    Clio  VANS. 

Comte  de  Bauvan  might  perhaps  commit  such  a  folly ;  but 
you,  sir,  be  worthy  of  your  future,  and  leave  me  without  re- 
gret. The  courtesan,  you  see.  would  require  too  much ;  she 
would  love  you  in  nowise  like  a  simple  and  artless  girl — she 
who  felt  in  her  heart  for  a  little  while  the  exquisite  hope  that 
she  might  be  your  companion,  that  she  might  make  you  always 
happy  and  do  you  honor,  and  be  a  noble  and  high-minded 
wife  to  you  ;  and  who,  through  these  very  thoughts  that  moved 
her,  gathered  courage,  and  revived  her  evil  nature  of  vice  and 
infamy,  so  as  to  set  it  between  herself  and  you  as  an  eternal 
barrier.  I  give  up  honor  and  fortune  for  your  sake.  The 
pride  which  lays  this  sacrifice  upon  me  will  uphold  me  in  jny 
wretchedness,  and  my  fate  I  leave  to  the  disposal  of  destiny. 
I  will  never  betray  you.  I  shall  go  back  to  Paris ;  and  when 
I  am  there  your  name  will  be  another  separate  self  to  me ; 
and  the  splendid  heroism  with  which  you  will  invest  it  will  be 
my  consolation  in  all  my  sorrows.  As  for  you,  you  are  a 
man;  you  will  forget  me — farewell." 

She  fled  in  the  direction  of  the  valleys  of  St.  Sulpice, 
and  vanished  before  the  Marquis  had  risen  to  delay  her ;  but 
she  retraced  her  steps,  hid  herself  in  a  fissure  of  the  rocks, 
raised  her  head,  and  anxiously  and  doubtfully  studied  the 
Marquis.  He  was  walking  on  without  heeding  the  direction 
in  which  be  went,  like  a  man  distraught. 

"  If  his  should  be  a  weak  nature,"  she  said  to  herself  as  he 
disappeared,  and  she  felt  herself  cut  off  from  him,  **  will  he 
understand  me  !  " 

She  trembled.  Then  she  suddenly  walked  on  towards 
Fougdres  by  herself,  with  rapid  steps,  as  if  she  feared  that  the 
Marquis  might  follow  her  to  the  town,  where  he  would  have 
met  with  his  death. 

"Well,  Francine,  what  did  he  say?"  she  asked  of  her 
faithful  Breton,  as  soon  as  they  were  together  again. 

"Alas  !  Marie,  I  was  sorry  for  him.  You  great  ladies  can 
stab  a  man  to  the  heart  with  a  bitter  word." 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A    MORROW.  289 

**  What  was  he  like  when  he  came  up  with  you  ?  "  she  asked 
Francine. 

"  Did  he  so  much  as  see  me  ? — Oh  !  Marie,  he  loves  you  !  " 

"Oh,  he  loves  me,  or  he  loves  me  not!  "  she  answered, 
two  words  that  mean  heaven  or  hell  for  me  ;  and  between 
lliose  two  extremes  I  cannot  find  a  place  on  which  to  set 
my  foot." 

After  she  had  accomplished  the  task  laid  upon  her  by  fate, 
Marie  could  give  way  to  her  sorrow.  Her  face  had  kept  its 
composure  hitherto,  owing  to  a  mixture  of  different  sentiments 
within  her,  but  now  it  underwent  a  rapid  change,  so  that  after 
a  day  spent  in  fluctuating  between  presentiments  of  joy  or 
despair,  her  beauty  lost  its  radiance  and  the  freshness  which 
owes  its  existence  either  to  the  absence  of  all  passion  or  to 
transports  of  happiness.  Hulot  and  Corentin  came  to  see 
her  shortly  after  her  arrival,  curious  to  know  the  results  of  her 
wild  enterprise.     Marie  received  them  smilingly. 

"Well,"  she  said  to  the  commandant,  whose  anxious  face 
looked  searchingly  at  her,  "  the  fox  is  coming  within  range 
of  your  guns  again,  and  you  will  soon  gain  a  very  glorious 
victory !  " 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  Corentin  inquired  carelessly.  He 
gave  Mile,  de  Verneuil  a  sidelong  glance,  such  as  this  sort  of 
diplomatist  uses  for  discovering  the  thoughts  of  others. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  answered,  "  the  Gars  is  more  in  love  with  me 
than  ever,  and  I  made  him  come  with  us  as  far  as  the  gates 
of  Foug^res." 

"  Apparently  that  is  where  your  power  ends,"  said  Corentin, 
and  the  ci-devanf  s  fears  are  still  stronger  than  the  love  which 
you  inspire  in  him." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  glanced  contemptuously  at  Corentin. 

"You  judge  him  by  yourself,"  she  replied. 

"Well,"  he  said,  serenely,  "why  did  you  not  bring  him 
as  far  as  your  own  house  ?  " 

"If  he  really  loved  me,  commandant,"  she  said  to  Hulot, 
19 


290  THE   CHOUAiXS. 

with  a  malicious  glance,  "  would  you  bear  a  grudge  against 
me  if  I  saved  him  and  bore  him  away  out  of  France  ?  " 

The  old  veteran  went  quickly  up  to  her,  and  took  her  hand 
as  if  to  kiss  it,  with  a  sort  of  enthusiasm  ;  then  he  gazed 
steadily  at  her  and  said,  as  his  brow  grew  dark — 

"  Vou  forget  my  two  friends,  and  my  sixty-three  men  !  " 

"Ah!  commandant,"  she  said,  with  all  the  naivete  of 
passion,  "that  was  not  his  fault,  he  was  tricked  by  a  bad 
woman,  Charette's  mistress,  who,  I  believe,  would  drink  the 
blood  of  the  Blues." 

"Come,  Marie,"  Corentin  put  in,  "do  not  make  fun  of 
the  commandant;  he  does  not  understand  your  jests  as  yet." 

"Be  silent,"  she  answered,  "and  know  that  the  day  on 
whicli  you  annoy  me  a  little  too  much  will  be  your  last." 

"  I  see,  mademoiselle,"  said  Hulot  with  no  bitterness  in 
his  tone,  "  that  I  must  prepare  to  fight." 

"You  are  in  no  condition  to  do  so,  my  dear  colonel.  I 
saw  more  than  six  thousand  of  their  men  at  Saint  James ; 
regular  troops,  and  ordnance,  and  English  officers.  But  with- 
out him,  what  will  become  of  all  these  people  ?  I  think,  as 
Fouche  does,  that  his  head  is  everything." 

"Very  well,  when  shall  we  have  it?"  Corentin  asked  im- 
patiently. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  was  her  careless  response. 

"English  officers!"  cried  Hulot,  in  hot  wrath,  "the  one 
thing  wanting  to  make  a  downright  brigand  of  him  !  Ah  ! 
I  will  fit  him  up  with  his  Englishmen,  that  I  will  !  It  seems 
to  me,  citizen  diplomatist,  that  you  allow  that  girl  to  upset  all 
your  plans  from  time  to  time,"  was  Hulot's  remark  to  Coren- 
tin, when  they  were  a  few  paces  distant  from  the  house. 

"It  is  quite  natural,  citizen  commandant,"  said  Corentin, 
with  a  pensive  air,  "  that  you  are  bewildered  by  all  that  she 
has  told  us.  You  men  of  the  sword  do  not  know  that  there 
are  several  ways  of  making  war.  To  make  a  dexterous  use 
of  the  passions  of  men  and  women,  as  so  many  springs  which 


A  DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  291 

can  be  set  in  motion  for  the  benefit  of  the  State ;  to  set  in 
position  all  the  wheels  in  the  mighty  piece  of  machinery  that 
we  call  a  government ;  to  take  a  pleasure  in  setting  within  it 
the  most  stubborn  sentiments,  like  detents  whose  action  one 
can  amuse  oneself  by  controlling  ;  is  not  all  this  the  work  of  a 
creator?  Is  it  not  a  position  like  God's,  in  the  centre  of  the 
universe?  " 

"You  will  permit  me  to  prefer  my  trade  to  yours,"  the 
soldier  answered  drily.  "  Do  as  you  will  with  that  machinery 
of  yours  ;  I  acknowledge  no  superior  but  the  Minister  of  War, 
I  have  my  instructions,  and  I  shall  take  the  field  with  stout 
fellows  who  will  not  skulk,  and  openly  confront  the  enemy 
whom  you  wish  to  take  from  behind." 

*'  Oh,  you  can  get  ready  to  march  if  you  like,"  Corentin 
rejoined.  "  Inscrutable  as  you  may  think  this  girl,  I  have 
managed  to  gather  from  her  that  there  will  be  some  skirmish- 
ing for  you ;  and  before  very  long  I  shall  have  the  pleasure 
of  obtaining  for  you  a  tete-d-tite  with  the  chief  of  these  bri- 
gands." 

"How  will  you  do  that ? "  inquired  Hulot,  stepping  back  a 
little,  the  better  to  see  this  singular  being. 

"  Mile,  de  Verneuil  loves  the  Gars,"  Corentin  answered  in 
a  stifled  voice,"  and  very  likely  he  is  in  love  with  her.  He 
is  a  Marquis,  he  wears  the  red  ribbon,  he  is  young,  and  he  has 
a  clever  head,  who  knows  but  that  he  may  still  be  wealthy — 
how  many  inducements  !  She  would  be  very  foolish  not  to 
play  for  her  own  hand,  and  try  to  marry  him  rather  than 
give  him  up  to  us.  She  is  endeavoring  to  keep  us  amused, 
but  I  can  read  a  kind  of  misgiving  in  the  girl's  eyes.  The 
two  lovers  will  most  probably  arrange  a  meeting,  perhaps  they 
have  done  so  already.  Well,  then,  to-morrow  I  shall  have 
my  man  fast  enough.  Hitherto  he  was  the  enemy  of  the 
Republic  and  nothing  more,  but  a  few  minutes  ago  he  became 
mine  as  well,  for  all  those  who  have  taken  it  into  their  heads 
to  come  between  this  girl  and  me  have  died  on  the  scaffold." 


292  THE   CHOUANS. 

When  he  had  finished,  Coreniin  became  too  much  absorbed 
in  his  own  meditations  to  notice  the  expression  of  intense  dis- 
gust on  the  true-hearted  soldier's  face.  When  Hulot  became 
aware  of  the  depths  in  this  intrigue,  and  of  the  nature  of  the 
springs  employed  in  Fouche's  machinery,  he  made  up  his 
mind  at  once  to  thwart  Corentin  in  every  matter  in  which 
the  success  of  the  enterprise  or  the  wishes  of  the  government 
were  not  essentially  concerned,  and  to  give  to  the  foe  of  the 
Republic  a  chance  of  dying  honorably  sword  in  hand,  before 
he  could  fall  a  victim  to  the  executioner,  whose  avowed 
caterer  stood  before  him  in  the  person  of  this  secret  agent  of 
the  upper  powers  of  the  police. 

"  If  the  First  Consul  were  to  take  my  advice,"  he  said, 
turning  his  back  on  Corentin,  "  he  would  leave  this  kind  of 
fox  to  fight  it  out  with  the  aristocrats — they  would  be  well 
matched — and  he  should  employ  soldiers  in  quite  other 
business." 

Corentin  looked  coolly  at  the  veteran  (whose  thoughts  shone 
out  plainly  in  his  face),  and  a  sardonic  expression  returned  to 
his  eyes,  revealing  a  sense  of  superiority  in  this  Machiavelian 
understrapper. 

"Give  three  ells  of  blue  cloth  to  brutes  of  that  sort,  and 
hang  a  bit  of  iron  at  their  sides,  and  they  fancy  that  in  poli- 
tics men  may  only  be  got  rid  of  after  one  fashion,"  said  he  to 
himself.  He  walked  slowly  on  for  a  few  minutes,  and  sud- 
denly exclaimed  within — 

**  Yes,  the  hour  has  come,  and  the  woman  shall  be  mine  I 
The  circle  that  I  have  traced  about  her  has  been  gradually 
growing  smaller  and  smaller  for  five  years ;  I  have  her  now, 
and  with  her  help  I  shall  climb  as  high  in  the  government  as 
Fouche.  Yes,  when  she  loses  the  one  man  whom  she  has 
loved,  the  agony  of  it  will  give  her  to  me  body  and  soul. 
All  that  I  have  to  do  now  is  to  keep  a  watch  on  her  night 
and  day,  to  surprise  her  secret." 

A  moment  later  an  onlooker  might  have  seen  Corentin 's 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  293 

pale  face  at  the  window  of  a  house  whence  he  could  behold 
every  one  who  came  into  the  blind  alley,  between  the  row 
of  houses  and  St.  Leonard's  church.  He  was  there  again 
on  the  morning  of  the  next  day  ;  patient  as  a  cat  that  lies 
in  wait  for  a  mouse,  attentive  to  the  slightest  sound,  and 
engaged  in  submitting  every  passer-by  to  a  rigorous  scrutiny. 
It  was  the  morning  of  a  market  day ;  and  although  in  those 
troubled  times  the  peasants  scarcely  ventured  to  come  to  the 
town,  Corentin  saw  a  gloomy  looking  man  clad  in  goatskins, 
who  carried  a  small  round  flat-shaped  basket  on  his  arm, 
and  who  went  towards  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  house,  after  giving 
a  careless  look  round  about  him.  Corentin  came  down 
from  his  post,  purposing  to  stop  the  peasant  as  he  came 
out ;  but  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  if  he  could  enter 
Mile,  de  Verneuil's  house  unawares,  a  single  glance  might 
possibly  surprise  the  secret  hidden  in  the  messenger's  basket. 
Popular  report,  moreover,  had  taught  him  that  it  was  all  but 
impossible  to  come  off  best  in  an  encounter  with  the  impene- 
trable replies  that   Normans  and  Bretons  are  wont  to  make. 

"  Galope-Chopine  !  "  cried  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  as  Francine 
brought  in  the  Chouan. 

"Am  I  then  beloved?"  she  added  to  herself  in  a  low 
voice.  An  instinct  of  hope  brought  a  bright  color  to  her 
face,  and  put  joy  in  her  heart.  Galope-Chopine  looked  by 
turns  at  the  mistress  of  the  house  and  at  Francine,  casting 
suspicious  glances  at  the  latter,  until  his  doubts  were  removed 
by  a  sign  from  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  towards  two  o'clock  he  will  be  at 
my  place,  waiting  for  you." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil's  agitation  was  so  great  that  she  could  only 
bend  her  head  in  reply,  but  a  Samoyede  could  have  understood 
all  its  significance.  Corentin's  footsteps  echoed  in  the  salon 
at  that  moment.  Galope-Chopine  was  not  disturbed  in  the 
least  when  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  glance  and  shudder  made  him 
aware  of  approaching  danger.     As  soon  as  the  spy  showed  his 


294  THE   CHOUANS. 

astute  countenance,  the  Chouan  raised  his  voice  to  a  deafening 
pitch. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  he  said  to  Francine,  "  there  is  Brittany  butter 
and  Brittany  butter.  You  want  Gibarry  butter,  and  only  give 
eleven  sous  the  pound  for  it  ?  You  ought  not  to  have  sent  for 
me  !  This  is  really  good  butter,"  he  said,  opening  his  basket, 
and  exhibiting  two  pats  that  Barbette  had  made  up.  "  Pay  a 
fair  price,  good  lady.  Come,  another  sou!  "  There  was  no 
trace  of  agitation  in  his  hollow  voice,  and  his  green  eyes,  un- 
derneath the  bushy  gray  eyebrows,  bore  Corentin's  keen 
scrutiny  without  flinching. 

"Come  now  ray  man,  hold  your  tongue.  You  did  not 
come  here  to  sell  butter ;  you  are  dealing  with  a  lady  who 
never  drove  a  bargain  in  her  life.  Your  line  of  business,  old 
boy,  will  leave  you  shorter  by  a  head  some  of  these  days. ' ' 

Corentin  tapped  him  amicably  on  the  shoulder  and  contin- 
ued, "  You  cannot  be  in  the  service  of  both  Chouans  and 
Blues  at  once  for  very  long." 

It  took  all  Galope-Chopine's  self-possession  to  choke  down 
his  wrath,  and  so  prevent  himself  from  rebutting  this  accusa- 
tion, which,  owing  to  his  avarice,  was  a  true  one.  He  con- 
tented himself  with  saying — 

"  The  gentleman  has  a  mind  to  laugh  at  me." 

Corentin  had  turned  his  back  upon  the  Chouan ;  but  as  he 
greeted  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  whose  heart  stood  still  with  terror, 
he  could  easily  watch  the  man  in  the  mirror.  Galope-Cho- 
pine,  who  believed  that  the  spy  could  no  longer  see  him, 
looked  inquiringly  at  Francine,  and  Francine  pointed  to  the 
door,  saying — 

"  Come  along  with  me,  good  man  ;  we  shall  always  manage 
to  settle  things  comfortably." 

Nothing  had  been  lost  upon  Corentin.  He  had  seen  every- 
thing. He  had  noticed  the  contraction  of  Mile,  de  Verneuil's 
mouth,  which  her  smile  had  failed  to  disguise;  and  her  red 
flush,  and  the  alteration  in  her  features,  as  well  as  the  Chouan 's 


A  DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  295 

uneasiness  and  Francine's  gesture.  He  felt  certain  that  Galope- 
Chopine  was  a  messenger  from  the  Marquis,  caught  at  the 
long  hair  of  the  man's  goatskins,  stopped  him  just  as  he  was 
going  out,  drew  him  back  so  that  he  confronted  his  own 
steady  gaze,  and  said — 

'*  Where  do  you  live,  my  good  friend  ?  /  want  but- 
ter  " 

"Good  gentleman,"  the  Chouan  answered,  "everybody  in 
Fougeres  knows  where  I  live.     I  am,  as  you  may  say " 

"  Corentin  !  "  cried  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  breaking  in  upon 
Galope-Chopine's  answer,  "it  is  a  great  piece  of  presumption 
on  your  part  to  pay  me  a  visit  at  this  time  of  day,  and  to  take 
me  by  surprise  like  this !  I  am  scarcely  dressed  !  Leave  the 
peasant  in  peace,  he  understands  your  tactics  as  little  as  I 
understand  your  motives  for  them.     Go,  good  fellow  ! ' ' 

Galope-Chopine  hesitated  for  a  moment  before  he  went. 
The  indecision  of  an  unlucky  wretch  who  cannot  tell  whom 
he  must  obey,  whether  it  was  real  or  feigned,  had  already  suc- 
ceeded in  deceiving  Corentin  ;  and  the  Chouan,  at  an  imper- 
ative gesture  from  Marie,  tramped  heavily  away.  Then  Mme. 
de  Verneuil  and  Corentin  looked  at  one  another  in  silence. 
This  time  Marie's  clear  eyes  could  not  endure  the  intensity 
of  the  arid  glare  that  was  shed  upon  her  in  the  other's  gaze. 
The  determined  manner  with  which  the  spy  had  made  his 
way  into  her  room,  an  expression  on  his  face  which  was  new 
to  Marie,  the  dull  sound  of  his  thin  voice,  his  attitude,  every^ 
thing  about  him,  alarmed  her.  She  felt  that  a  secret  struggle 
had  begun  between  them,  and  that  he  was  exerting  all  the 
powers  of  his  sinister  influence  against  her;  but  although  at 
that  moment  she  distinctly  beheld  the  full  extent  of  the  gulf, 
and  the  depths  to  which  she  had  consigned  herself,  she  drew 
sufficient  strength  from  her  love  to  shake  off  the  icy  cold  of 
her  presentiments. 

"Corentin,"  she  began  with  an  attempt  at  mirth,  "I  hope 
you  will  allow  me  to  finish  ray  toilet." 


296  THE   CHOUANS. 

"  Marie,"  said  he, — "  yes,  allow  me  to  call  you  so — you 
do  not  know  me  yet !  Listen  !  A  less  sharp-sighted  man 
than  I  am  would  have  found  out  your  love  for  the  Marquis  de 
Montauran  before  this.  I  have  again  and  again  offered  you 
my  heart  and  my  hand.  You  did  not  think  me  worthy  of 
you,  and  perhaps  you  are  right ;  but  if  you  think  that  you  are 
too  much  above  me,  too  beautiful  or  too  high-minded  for  me, 
I  can  easily  make  you  come  down  to  my  level.  My  ambitions 
and  my  doctrines  have  inspired  you  with  scanty  respect  for 
me,  and,  to  be  plain  with  you,  you  are  wrong.  The  value  of 
men  is  even  less  than  my  estimate  of  them,  and  I  rate  them 
at  next  to  nothing.  There  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  I  shall 
attain  to  a  high  position,  to  honors  that  will  gratify  your 
pride.  Who  will  love  you  better  than  I  ?  Over  whom  will 
you  have  such  an  absolute  dominion  as  over  the  man  who  has 
loved  you  for  five  years  past  ?  At  the  risk  of  making  an  im- 
pression upon  you  which  will  not  be  in  my  favor  (for  you  have 
no  idea  that  it  is  possible  to  renounce,  through  excess  of  love, 
the  woman  whom  one  worships),  I  will  give  you  a  measure  of 
the  disinterested  affection  with  which  I  adore  you.  Do  not 
shake  your  pretty  head  in  that  way.  If  the  Marquis  loves 
you,  marry  him,  but  first  make  quite  sure  of  his  sincerity.  If 
I  knew  that  you  were  disappointed  in  him,  I  should  be  in 
despair,  for  your  happiness  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  own. 
My  determination  may  surprise  you,  but  you  must  ascribe  it 
simply  to  the  prudence  of  a  man  who  is  not  fool  enough  to 
wish  to  possess  a  woman  against  her  will.  I  blame  myself, 
moreover,  and  not  you,  for  the  futility  of  my  efforts.  I  hoped 
to  win  you  by  dint  of  submission  and  devotion  ;  for,  as  you 
know,  a  long  time  past  I  have  tried  to  make  you  happy, 
after  my  notions ;  but  you  have  thought  fit  to  reward  me  for 
nothing." 

"  I  have  endured  your  presence,"  she  said  haughtily. 

"  Say  further  that  you  are  sorry  to  have  done  so,"  Corentin 
curtly  retorted. 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  297 

"  After  you  have  committed  me  to  this  disgraceful  enter- 
prise, are  thanks  still  owing  to  you  ?  " 

"  When  I  proposed  an  undertaking  to  you,  in  which  timor- 
ous souls  might  find  something  blameworthy,  I  had  only  your 
fortune  in  view,"  he  answered  audaciously.  "  As  for  me, 
whether  I  succeed  or  fail,  I  can  now  make  every  sort  of  result 
conduct  to  the  ultimate  success  of  my  plans.  If  you  should 
marry  Montauran,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  make  myself  useful 
to  the  Bourbon  cause  in  Paris,  where  I  am  a  member  of  the 
Clichy  Club.  As  it  happens,  any  circumstance  that  puts  me 
in  correspondence  with  the  princes  would  persuade  me  to  quit 
the  cause  of  a  Republic  which  is  tottering  to  its  fall.  General 
Bonaparte  is  far  too  clever  not  to  perceive  that  he  cannot 
possibly  be  at  once  in  Germany  and  Italy  and  here  where  the 
Revolution  is  on  the  wane.  He  arranged  the  i8th  Brumaire 
because,  no  doubt,  he  wished  to  obtain  the  best  possible  terms 
from  the  Bourbons,  in  treating  with  them  as  to  France ;  for 
he  is  a  very  clever  fellow,  and  has  no  lack  of  capacity.  But 
politicians  ought  to  get  ahead  of  him  on  the  road  on  which 
he  has  entered.  As  to  betraying  France,  we  who  are  superior 
to  any  scruples  on  that  score,  can  leave  them  to  fools.  I  am 
fully  empowered — I  do  not  conceal  it  from  you — either  to 
open  negotiations  with  the  Chouan  chiefs  or  to  extirpate 
them  ;  for  my  patron  Fouche  is  a  deep  fellow  enough ;  he  has 
always  played  a  double  game.  During  the  Terror  he  was  at 
once  for  Robespierre  and  for  Danton " 

"Whom  you  forsook  like  a  coward  !  "  she  said. 

"Rubbish,"  replied  Corentin  ;  "he  is  dead,  forget  him. 
Come,  speak  your  mind  frankly ;  I  have  set  the  example. 
The  chief  of  demi-brigade  is  shrewder  than  he  looks,  and  if 
you  wish  to  elude  the  watch  he  keeps,  I  might  be  useful  to 
you.  So  long  as  you  stay  here,  beneath  his  eye,  you  are  at 
the  mercy  of  his  police.  You  see  how  quickly  he  learned  that 
the  Chouan  was  with  you  !  How  could  his  military  sagacity 
fail  to  make  it  plain  to  him  that  your  least  movements  would 


298  THE   CHOUANS. 

keep  him  informed  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  Marquis,  if 
you  are  loved  by  Montauran  ?  " 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  never  heard  such  gently  affectionate 
tones  before.  Corentin  seemed  to  be  absolutely  sincere,  and 
to  put  full  trust  in  her.  The  poor  girl's  heart  so  readily  re- 
ceived generous  impressions,  that  she  was  about  to  intrust  her 
secret  to  the  serpent  who  had  wound  his  coils  about  her.  She 
bethought  herself,  however,  that  she  had  no  proof  whatever 
that  this  crafty  talk  was  genuine,  and  so  she  felt  no  hesitation 
about  deceiving  the  man  who  was  watching  her. 

"Well,"  she  answered,  *'you  have  guessed  my  secret, 
Corentin.  Yes,  I  love  the  Marquis ;  but  I  am  not  loved  by 
him,  or  at  least,  I  fear  not ;  so  that  the  rendezvous  he  has 
made  seems  to  me  to  hide  some  trap." 

"  But  you  told  us  yesterday  that  he  had  come  with  you  as 
far  as  Fougeres,"  Corentin  replied.  "If  he  had  intended 
violence,  you  would  not  be  here." 

"Your  heart  is  withered,  Corentin.  You  can  base  cun- 
ningly contrived  schemes  on  the  occurrences  of  ordinary  life, 
but  you  cannot  reckon  with  the  course  of  passion.  Perhaps 
that  is  the  cause  of  the  aversion  that  you  always  inspire  in  me. 
But  as  you  are  so  clear-sighted,  try  to  understand  how  it  is 
that  a  man  from  whom  the  day  before  yesterday  I  parted  in 
anger  is  waiting  eagerly  for  me  to-day  on  the  Mayenne  road, 
at  a  house  in  Florigny,  towards  the  end  of  the  day " 

At  this  confession,  which  seemed  to  have  escaped  from  her 
in  a  moment  of  excitement  natural  enough  in  a  nature  so  pas- 
sionate and  outspoken,  Corentin  reddened,  for  he  was  still 
young ;  but  furtively  he  gave  her  one  of  those  keen  glances 
that  try  to  explore  the  soul.  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  feigned  rev- 
elation of  self  had  been  made  so  skilfully  that  the  spy  was  de- 
ceived. He  made  answer  with  a  semblance  of  good  nature, 
"Would  you  like  me  to  follow  you  at  a  distance?  I  would 
take  soldiers  in  plain  clothes  with  me,  and  we  should  be  at 
your  orders." 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  299 

"I  agree  to  it,"  said  she,  "but  promise  me,  on  your 
honor — Oh,  no  !  for  I  put  no  faith  in  that ;  on  your  salva- 
tion— but  you  do  not  believe  in  God ;  on  your  soul — but  per- 
haps you  have  no  soul.  What  guarantee  can  you  give  me  of 
your  fidelity  ?  And  yet  I  am  trusting  in  you,  notwithstand- 
ing, and  I  am  putting  into  your  hands  more  than  my  life,  or 
my  love,  or  my  revenge  !  " 

The  faint  smile  that  appeared  over  Corentin's  sallow  features 
showed  Mile,  de  Verneuil  the  danger  that  she  had  just  escaped. 
The  agent  of  police,  whose  nostrils  seemed  to  contract  rather 
than  to  expand,  took  his  victim's  hand  and  kissed  it  with 
every  outward  sign  of  deep  respect,  and  took  leave  of  her 
with  a  not  ungraceful  bow. 

Three  hours  later.  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  stood  in  fear  of 
Corentin's  return,  stole  out  of  St.  Leonard's  gate  and  took 
the  narrow  path  down  the  Nid-aux-Crocs,  which  led  into  the 
Nangon  valley.  She  thought  herself  safe  as  she  went  un- 
noticed, through  the  labyrinth  of  tracks  which  led  to  Galope- 
Chopine's  cabin,  whither  she  betook  herself  with  a  light  heart, 
for  the  hope  of  happiness  led  her  on,  as  well  as  a  strong  wish 
to  save  her  lover  from  the  dangers  that  threatened  him. 

Corentin,  meanwhile,  went  in  quest  of  the  commandant. 
He  had  some  difficulty  in  recognizing  Hulot  when  he  came 
upon  him  in  a  little  square,  where  the  commandant  was  deep 
in  military  preparations.  Indeed,  the  brave  veteran  had  made 
a  sacrifice  of  which  the  merit  can  hardly  be  estimated.  His 
queue  had  been  cut  off,  he  had  shaved  his  moustache,  and 
there  was  a  trace  of  powder  about  his  hair  which  was  clipped 
as  short  as  a  priest's.  He  wore  great  iron-bound  shoes,  and 
had  exchanged  his  old  blue  uniform  and  his  sword  for  goat- 
skins, a  belt  adorned  with  pistols,  and  a  heavy  carbine.  Thus 
accoutred  he  was  reviewing  two  hundred  of  the  townsmen  of 
Fougeres,  whose  costumes  might  have  deceived  the  eyes  of 
the  most  expert  Chouan.  The  martial  fervor  of  the  little 
town  and  of  the  native  Breton  character  was  very  evident. 


300  THE   C HO  VANS. 

There  was  no  novelty  about  the  spectacle.  Here  and  there  a 
mother  or  sister  carried  to  a  son  or  brother  a  gourd  of  brandy 
or  pistols  that  had  been  forgotten.  A  number  of  old  men 
were  investigating  the  quality  and  quantity  of  the  cartridges 
supplied  to  the  National  Guards  thus  metamorphosed  into 
Counter-Chouans,  whose  high  spirits  seemed  more  in  accord- 
ance with  a  hunting  party  than  with  a  dangerous  enterprise. 
The  skirmishes  of  Chouannerie,  wherein  Breton  townsmen 
fought  with  Breton  peasants,  appeared,  in  their  eyes,  to  be  a 
substitute  for  the  tournaments  of  chivalry.  Possibly  this 
fervid  patriotism  had  its  source  in  certain  grants  of  national 
property ;  but  the  benefits  of  the  Revolution  (which  were 
better  appreciated  in  the  towns),  as  well  as  party  spirit  and  a 
characteristic  and  innate  love  of  fighting,  all  counted  for 
something  in  bringing  about  their  enthusiasm. 

Hulot  went  through  the  ranks  in  admiration,  making  inqui- 
ries of  Gudin,  to  whom  he  had  transferred  the  friendship  he 
had  formerly  entertained  for  Merle  and  Gerard.  A  crowd 
of  townspeople,  examining  the  preparations  for  their  expe- 
dition, compared  the  appearance  of  their  undisciplined 
fellow-countrymen  with  that  of  a  battalion  of  Hulot's  own 
demi-brigade. 

Silent  and  motionless,  the  Blues  stood  drawn  up  in  line, 
under  the  command  of  their  officers,  awaiting  the  orders  of 
the  commandant,  whom  the  eyes  of  every  soldier  followed 
about  from  group  to  group.  As  Corentin  approached  the 
chief  of  demi-brigade,  he  could  not  repress  a  smile  at  the 
change  that  had  been  wrought  in  Hulot's  face.  He  looked 
like  a  portrait  which  no  longer  bears  any  likeness  to  the 
original. 

"  What  is  the  news  now?  "  Corentin  asked  him. 

"  Come  and  fire  a  shot  along  with  us,  and  you  will  know," 
the  commandant  replied. 

"Oh  !  I  do  not  belong  to  Fougeres,"  answered  Corentin. 

"  That  is  easy  to  see,  citizen,"  said  Gudin. 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  301 

A  mocking  laugh  broke  out  here  and  there  among  the 
groups  of  bystanders. 

"Do  you  imagine,"  retorted  Corentin,  "that  France  can 
only  be  served  with  the  bayonet?  "  He  turned  his  back  on 
the  scoffers  and  went  up  to  one  of  the  women  to  inquire  the 
purpose  and  the  destination  of  the  expedition. 

"  Alas  !  good  sir,  the  Chouans  are  even  now  at  Florigny  ! 
They  say  that  they  are  more  than  three  thousand  strong,  and 
that  they  are  marching  on  Fougeres." 

"  Florigny  !  "  cried  Corentin,  turning  pale. 

"Then  her  rendezvous  is  not  there!  Are  they  really  at 
Florigny  on  the  road  to  Mayenne?  "  he  asked. 

"There  is  only  one  Florigny,"  the  woman  answered,  and, 
as  she  spoke,  she  indicated  the  road  that  was  cut  short  by  the 
summit  of  La  Pelerine. 

"  Are  you  looking  for  the  Marquis  de  Montauran  ?  "  Cor- 
entin asked  the  commandant. 

"  Rather  !  "  Hulot  answered  shortly. 

"  Then  he  is  not  at  Florigny,"  Corentin  resumed.  "  Bring 
your  own  battalion  and  the  National  Guard  to  bear  on  that 
point,  but  keep  a  few  of  your  Counter-Chouans  with  you  and 
wait  for  me." 

"  He  is  too  cunning  to  be  mad,"  the  commandant  exclaimed, 
as  he  watched  Corentin  set  off  with  hasty  strides.  "  He  is 
the  very  king  of  spies  !  " 

Hulot  gave  his  battalion  a  signal  to  depart.  The  Republi- 
can soldiers  marched  silently  and  without  beat  of  drum  through 
the  narrow  suburb  that  lies  on  the  way  to  the  Mayenne  road, 
forming  a  long  streak  of  blue  and  red  among  the  houses  and 
trees.  The  disguised  National  Guards  followed  them,  but 
Hulot  stayed  behind  in  the  little  square,  with  Gudin  and  a 
score  of  the  smartest  of  the  young  men  of  the  town.  He 
was  waiting  for  Corentin,  whose  enigmatical  air  had  roused  his 
curiosity.  Francine  herself  told  Corentin  that  Mile,  de  Ver- 
neuil  had  gone  out,  and  the  keen-witted  spy's  surmise  became 


302  THE    CHOUANS. 

a  certainty.  He  started  out  at  once  in  quest  of  any  light  that 
he  could  obtain  as  to  this  abrupt  departure,  which  with  good 
reason  seemed  suspicious  to  him.  Corentin  learned  from  the 
soldiers  in  the  guard-house  at  St.  Leonard's  gate  that  the  fair 
stranger  had  gone  down  the  path  on  the  side  of  the  Nid-aux- 
Crocs ;  he  hurried  to  the  Promenade,  and  unluckily  reached 
it  just  in  time  to  watch  all  Marie's  slightest  movements  from 
his  post  of  observation.  Though  she  had  dressed  herself  in  a 
hood  and  gown  of  green,  so  as  to  be  less  conspicuous,  the  quick 
uneven  movements  of  her  almost  frenzied  progress  among  the 
hedges,  now  leafless  and  white  with  hoar-frost,  readily  betrayed 
the  direction  in  which  she  was  going, 

"  Ah  !"  he  cried,  "  you  should  by  rights  be  on  the  way  to 
Florigny,  and  you  are  going  down  the  dale  of  Gibarry !  I 
am  a  fool  after  all.  She  has  tricked  me.  Patience,  though, 
T  can  light  ray  lamp  in  the  daytime  quite  as  well  as  at  night." 

Corentin,  who  had  all  but  detected  the  spot  where  the  two 
lovers  were  to  meet,  hurried  back  into  the  square  just  as 
Hulot  was  leaving  it  to  rejoin  his  troops. 

"  Halt,  general !  "  he  shouted,  and  the  commandant  came 
back.  In  a  brief  space  Corentin  put  the  soldier  in  possession 
of  the  facts  that  seemed  to  be  visible  threads  in  a  web  as  yet 
concealed  from  them.  Hulot,  struck  with  the  diplomatist's 
astuteness,  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

'^Mille  tonnerres  !  you  are  right,  citizen  Pry  !  The  bandits 
down  there  are  making  a  feint !  The  two  flying  columns  that 
I  sent  out  to  reconnoitre  the  neighborhood  which  lies  between 
the  road  to  Antrain  and  the  road  to  Vitre  have  not  yet  come 
back.  So  we  shall,  no  doubt,  obtain  reinforcements  in  the 
country  which  will  come  in  handy,  for  the  Gars  is  not  such  a 
fool  as  to  venture  out  without  his  blessed  screech-owls, 
Gudin,"  he  went  on,  addressing  the  young  Fougerais,  "hurry 
off",  and  let  Captain  Lebrun  know  that  he  can  do  without  me 
at  Florigny;  tell  him  to  give  the  brigands  there  a  dressing- 
down,  and  come  back  again  in  less  than  no  time.     You  know 


nn^-.,,-:,- 


WENT     OUT     OF     THE     TOWN      THROUGH      THE     GATE     Or 
St.     SULPICE. 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  303 

the  short  cuts.  I  shall  wait  for  you  here  to  set  out  on  a  hunt 
for  the  ci-devant,  and  to  avenge  the  murders  at  the  Vivetiere. 
Tonnerre  de  Dieu  !  how  he  runs  !  "  he  added,  as  he  watched 
Gudin  set  off,  and  vanish  as  if  by  magic.  How  Gerard  would 
have  liked  that  fellow  !  " 

When  Gudin  came  back  he  found  the  numbers  of  Hulot's 
little  band  increased.  A  few  soldiers  had  been  withdrawn 
from  the  guard-houses  in  the  town.  The  commandant  told 
the  young  Fougerais  to  pick  out  a  dozen  of  his  countrymen 
who  were  best  acquainted  with  the  risky  trade  of  Counter- 
Chouan,  and  ordered  him  to  make  his  way  through  St.  Leon- 
ard's gate  so  as  to  go  over  the  whole  length  of  that  side  of 
the  hills  of  St.  Sulpice  which  overlooked  the  main  valley 
of  the  Couesnon,  the  side  moreover  on  which  Gaiope-Chopine's 
cabin  lay.  Hulot  pat  himself  at  the  head  of  his  remaining 
men,  and  went  out  of  the  town  through  the  gate  of  St.  Sulpice, 
meaning  to  climb  the  hills  and  to  follow  the  line  of  their  crests, 
where,  according  to  his  calculations,  he  ought  to  fall  in  with 
Beau-Pied  and  his  men,  whom  he  intended  to  employ  in  form- 
ing a  cordon  of  sentinels  who  should  watch  the  crags  from  the 
suburb  of  St.  Sulpice  as  far  as  the  Nid-aux-Crocs. 

Corentin,  feeling  quite  certain  that  he  had  put  the  fate  of 
the  Chouan  chief  into  the  hands  of  his  bitterest  foes,  promptly 
betook  himself  to  the  Promenade,  the  better  to  grasp  the 
whole  of  Hulot's  military  dispositions.  He  was  not  slow  to 
perceive  Gudin's  little  band,  as  it  issued  from  the  valley  of 
the  Nan^on,  and  followed  the  line  of  the  crags  along  the  side 
of  the  Couesnon  valley ;  while  Hulot,  breaking  cover,  stole 
under  the  walls  of  the  castle  of  Fougeres,  and  climbed  the 
dangerous  path  that  ascends  to  the  summits  of  the  hills  of  St. 
Sulpice.  The  two  bodies  of  men,  therefore,  appeared  in 
parallel  lines.  The  rich  tracery  of  hoar-frost  that  decorated 
every  bush  and  tree  had  given  a  white  hue  to  the  country  side, 
which  made  it  easy  to  watch  the  gray  moving  lines  of  the  two 
small  bodies  of  soldiers. 


304  THE   CHOUANS. 

When  Hulot  reached  the  level  heights  of  the  crags,  he 
called  out  all  the  men  in  uniform  among  his  troops,  and 
Corentin  saw  how  they  were  posted,  by  the  orders  of  tlie 
keen-sighted  commandant,  as  a  line  of  patrolling  sentinels, 
with  a  sufficient  distance  between  each  man.  The  first  man 
of  the  chain  communicated  with  Gudin,  and  the  last  witli 
Hulot,  so  that  there  was  no  bush  that  could  escape  the  bay- 
onets of  the  three  moving  lines  which  were  to  hunt  down  the 
Gars,  over  hill  and  field. 

**  The  old  war-wolf  is  crafty !  "  cried  Corentin  as  the  glit- 
tering points  of  the  last  bayonets  disappeared  in  the  furze. 
**  The  Gars'  goose  is  cooked  !  If  Marie  had  betrayed  this 
accursed  Marquis,  she  and  I  should  have  had  the  strongest  of 
all  bonds  between  us — the  bond  of  guilt.  But  she  shall  cer- 
tainly be  mine  !  " 

The  twelve  lads  from  Fougeres,  under  the  command  of 
Gudin,  their  sub-lieutenant,  very  soon  reached  a  spot  on  the 
other  side  of  the  St.  Sulpice  crags,  where  they  slope  by 
degrees  into  the  dale  of  Gibarry.  Gudin  himself  left  the 
road,  and  vaulted  lightly  over  the  echalier  into  the  first  field 
of  broom  that  he  came  across.  Six  of  his  fellows  went  with 
him,  while  the  other  six,  in  obedience  to  his  orders,  took  the 
fields  to  the  right,  so  that  in  this  way  they  beat  up  both  sides 
of  the  road.  Gudin  himself  hurried  to  an  apple-tree  that 
stood  in  the  midst  of  the  broom.  At  the  sound  of  the  foot- 
steps of  the  six  Counter-Chouans,  whom  Gudin  led  through 
the  forest  of  bushes,  making  every  effort  the  while  not  to  dis- 
turb the  rime  upon  them,  Beau-Pied  and  seven  or  eight  men 
under  his  command  hid  themselves  behind  some  chestnut 
trees  that  grew  on  the  summit  of  the  hedge  by  which  the 
field  was  surrounded.  In  spite  of  the  white  covering  that 
enveloped  the  country,  and  in  spite  of  their  well-trained  eyes, 
the  lads  from  Fougeres  at  first  did  not  notice  the  others,  who 
had  made  a  sort  of  rampart  of  the  trees. 

**  Hush !  "  said  Beau-Pied,  who  had  raised  his  head  first, 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  305 

"here  they  are  !  The  brigands  have  got  ahead  of  us;  but 
since  we  have  them  here  at  the  ends  of  our  guns,  don't  let  us 
miss  them,  or,  my  word  for  it,  we  shall  not  even  be  fit  to  be 
soldiers  to  the  Pope  !  " 

Gudin's  keen  eyes,  however,  had  at  last  discerned  the  bar- 
rels of  the  muskets  that  were  pointed  at  his  little  party. 
Eight  loud  voices  immediately  shouted,  **  Who  goes  there  !  " 
a  bitter  gibe  that  was  followed  up  at  once  by  eight  shots.  The 
bullets  whistled  about  the  Counter-Chouans ;  one  was  hit  in 
the  arm,  and  another  dropped.  Five  of  the  party  who 
remained  unhurt  retorted  with  a  volley,  as  they  answered, 
"Friends!"  and  marched  rapidly  upon  their  supposed 
enemies,  so  as  to  come  upon  them  before  they  could  reload. 

"  We  did  not  know  that  there  was  so  much  truth  in  what 
we  said,"  the  young  sub-lieutenant  exclaimed,  as  he  recognized 
the  uniforms  and  shabby  hats  of  his  demi-brigade.  "We 
have  acted  in  true  Breton  fashion,  fighting  first,  and  asking 
for  explanations  afterwards." 

The  eight  soldiers  stood  dumbfounded  at  the  sight  of 
Gudin.  "  Plague  take  it,  sir,  who  the  devil  could  help  taking 
you  for  the  brigands  in  those  goatskins  of  yours?"  cried 
Beau-Pied  dolefully. 

"It  is  unlucky,  and  none  of  us  are  to  blame,  for  you  were 
not  told  beforehand  that  our  Counter-Chouans  were  going  to 
make  a  sortie.    But  what  are  you  about  ?  "  Gudin  asked  him. 

"  We  are  looking  out  for  a  dozen  Chouans,  sir,  who  are 
amusing  themselves  by  breaking  our  backs.  We  have  been 
running  for  it  like  poisoned  rats,  but  our  legs  are  stiff  with 
jumping  over  these  echaliers  and  hedges  (heaven  confound 
them!),  so  we  were  taking  a  rest.  I  think  by  now  the 
brigands  must  be  somewhere  near  the  shanty  you  see  over 
there  with  the  smoke  rising  from  it." 

"  Good  !  "  cried  Gudin.  "  As  for  you,"  he  said  to  Beau- 
Pied  and  his  eight  men,  "  fall  back  across  the  fields  on  the 
crags  of  St.  Sulpice,  and  support  the  line  of  sentinels  that  the 
20 


306  THE   CFIOUANS. 

commandant  has  posted  there.  It  will  not  do  for  you  to  stay 
with  us,  as  you  are  in  uniform.  Milte  cartouches!  We  want 
to  put  an  end  to  the  dogs  ;  the  Gars  is  among  them  !  Your 
comrades  will  tell  you  more  about  it  than  I  can.  File  to  the 
left,  and  do  not  fire  on  half-a-dozen  of  our  goatskins,  whom 
you  may  come  across.  You  can  tell  our  Chouans  by  their 
cravats;  they  are  wound  round  their  necks  without  a  knot." 

Gudin  left  the  two  wounded  men  under  the  apple-tree,  and 
went  toward  Galope-Chopine's  house,  which  Beau-Pied  had 
pointed  out  to  him,  guided  by  the  smoke  that  rose  from  it. 
While  the  young  officer  had  been  put  on  the  track  of  the 
Chouans  by  a  chance  fray  common  enough  in  this  war,  but 
which  might  have  been  much  more  serious,  the  little  detach- 
ment under  Hulot's  command  had  reached  a  point  in  his  line 
of  operations  parallel  with  that  reached  by  Gudin  on  the 
other  side.  The  veteran,  at  the  head  of  his  Counter-Chouans, 
stole  noiselessly  along  the  hedges  with  all  the  eagerness  of  a 
young  man.  He  sprang  over  the  ichaliers  lightly  enough, 
even  now ;  his  tawny  eyes  wandered  over  the  heights,  and  he 
turned  his  ear  like  a  hunter  towards  the  slightest  sound.  In 
the  third  field  which  he  entered  he  saw  a  woman  of  thirty,  or 
thereabouts,  engaged  in  hoeing.  She  was  hard  at  work,  and 
bending  over  her  toil ;  while  a  little  boy,  about  seven  or 
eight  years  old,  armed  with  a  bill-hook,  was  shaking  the  hoar- 
frost from  a  few  furze-bushes  that  had  sprung  up  here  and 
there,  before  cutting  them  down,  and  laying  them  in  heaps. 
The  little  urchin  and  his  mother  raised  their  heads  at  the 
sound  that  Hulot  made,  as  he  came  down  heavily  on  the  near 
side  of  the  echalier.  Hulot  readily  took  the  young  woman 
for  an  old  one.  Wrinkles  had  come  before  their  time  to  fur- 
row the  skin  of  the  Breton  woman's  throat  and  brow ;  and 
she  was  so  oddly  dressed,  in  a  well-worn  goatskin,  that  if  a 
skirt  of  dirty  yellow  canvas  had  not  denoted  her  sex,  Hulot 
would  not  have  known  whether  the  peasant  was  a  man  or  a 
woman,  for  the  long  locks  of  her  black  hair  were   hidden 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A    MORROW.  307 

away   under   a  red    woolen   cap.      The   little   urchin's   rags 
scarcely  covered  him,  and  his  skin  showed  through  them. 

"Halloo!  old  woman,"  said  Hulot  in  a  low  voice,  as  he 
came  up  to  her.     "  Where  is  the  Gars  ?  " 

The  twenty  Counter-Chouans  who  followed  him  leaped  the 
boundary  into  the  field  at  that  moment. 

"  Oh  !  to  go  to  the  Gars,  you  must  go  back  to  the  place  you 
have  come  from,"  the  woman  replied,  after  she  had  given  a 
suspicious  glance  round  at  the  men. 

"  Did  I  ask  you  the  way  to  the  suburb  of  the  Gars  at 
Fougeres,  old  scarecrow ? "  Hulot  answered  roughly.  "St. 
Anne  of  Auray  !     Have  you  seen  the  Gars  go  by  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  the  woman  answered, 
stooping  to  go  on  with  her  work. 

"  Do  you  want  the  Blues  on  our  track  to  swallow  us  up, 
accursed  ^ar^<r  /  "  shouted  Hulot. 

The  woman  raised  her  head  at  the  words,  and  eyed  the 
Chouans  with  fresh  suspicion  as  she  answered,  "  How  can  the 
Blues  be  at  your  heels?  I  have  just  seen  seven  or  eight  of 
them  going  back  to  Fougeres  along  the  road  below  there." 

"  Now,  would  not  any  one  think  that  she  had  a  mind  to  bite 
us  ?  "  asked  Hulot.  "  There  !  look  there,  old  nanny-goat ! " 
The  commandant  pointed  to  three  or  four  of  his  own  sentries, 
some  fifty  paces  behind,  whose  hats,  uniforms,  and  guns  were 
easily  recognizable. 

"  Do  jjou  want  the  men  whom  Marche-a-Terre  is  sending  to 
help  the  Gars  to  have  their  throats  cut?  The  Fougeres 
people  want  to  catch  them  !  "  he  said  angrily. 

"Ah,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  the  woman  answered,  "but  it  is 
so  easy  to  make  a  mistake !  What  parish  do  you  come 
from?  "  she  asked. 

"From  Saint  George,"  cried  two  or  three  of  the  Fougdres 
men  in  Bas-Breton,  "and  we  are  perishing  of  hunger." 

"Very  well,  stop  a  moment,"  said  the  woman.  "  Do  you 
see  that  smoke  yonder?     My  house  is  there.     If  you  follow 


308  THE   CHOUANS. 

the  track  to  the  right,  you  will  come  out  up  above  it.  Perhaps 
you  may  meet  my  husband  on  the  way.  Galope-Chopine  has 
to  keep  a  lookout,  so  as  to  warn  the  Gars ;  for  he  has  come  to 
our  house  to-day,  you  know,"  she  added  proudly. 

"Thanks,  good  woman,"  Hulot  answered.  '•  Forward  !  " 
he  added,  speaking  to  his  men.  "  Tonnerre  de  Dim  !  We 
have  him  now  !  " 

At  these  words  the  detachment  followed  the  commandant 
at  a  run,  down  the  footpath  that  had  been  pointed  out  to  them. 
But  when  Galope-Chopine's  wife  heard  the  oath,  which  so 
little  beseemed  a  Catholic,  uttered  by  the  supposed  Choua'n, 
she  turned  pale.  She  looked  at  the  gaiters  and  goatskins  of 
the  lads  from  Fougeres,  sat  herself  down  on  the  ground,  and 
held  her  child  in  a  tight  embrace,  as  she  said — 

"  May  the  Holy  Virgin  of  Auray  and  the  blessed  St.  Labre 
have  mercy  upon  us !  I  do  not  believe  that  those  are  our 
people  ;  their  shoes  have  no  nails  to  them.  Run  along  the 
lower  road  and  tell  your  father  about  it.  His  head  is  at  stake," 
she  said  to  the  little  boy,  who  vanished  among  the  broom  and 
furze  like  a  fawn. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil,  however,  had  met  no  one  belonging  to 
either  side  upon  her  way ;  though  Blues  and  Chouans  were 
hunting  each  other  in  the  labyrinth  of  fields  that  lay  round 
Galope-Chopine's  cabin.  When  she  came  in  sight  of  the 
column  of  bluish  smoke  which  rose  from  the  half-ruined 
chimney  of  the  wretched  dwelling,  she  felt  her  heart  beating 
so  violently  that  the  quick  vibrating  throbs  seemed  to  surge 
into  her  throat.  She  stopped,  laid  her  hand  on  the  branch 
of  a  tree  to  steady  herself,  and  gazed  at  the  smoke  which  was 
to  serve  for  a  beacon  alike  to  the  friends  and  foes  of  the  young 
chief.     Never  before  had  she  felt  such  overwhelming  emotion. 

**  Ah  !  I  love  him  too  much  !  "  she  said  to  herself  in  a  kind 
of  despair ;  "  perhaps  to-day  I  shall  have  command  of  myself 
no  longer." 

She  suddenly  crossed  the  space  that  lay  between  her  and 


A  DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  309 

the  hovel,  and  came  into  the  yard,  whose  maddy  surface  was 
now  hard  frozen.  The  great  dog  flew  barking  at  her,  bat  at 
a  word  from  Galope-Chopine  he  ceased  and  wagged  his  tail. 
As  she  entered  the  hut  Mile,  de  Verneuil  gave  a  comprehen- 
sive glance  round  it.  The  Marquis  was  not  there.  Marie 
breathed  more  freely.  She  was  glad  to  see  that  the  Chouan 
had  made  an  eflFort  to  restore  some  amount  of  cleanliness  to 
the  one  dirty  room  of  his  den.  Galope-Chopine  seized  his 
duck-gun,  took  leave  of  his  visitor  without  uttering  a  word, 
and  went  out  with  his  dog.  Marie  went  after  him  as  far  as 
the  threshold,  and  watched  him  turn  to  the  right,  when  out- 
side his  cabin,  into  a  lane,  whose  entrance  was  barred  by  a 
decayed  trunk  of  a  tree  that  was  almost  dropping  to  pieces. 
From  the  doorway  she  could  see  field  beyond  field.  The  bars 
across  their  openings  made  a  sort  of  vista  of  gateways,  for  the 
bareness  of  the  trees  and  hedges  enabled  the  eye  to  see  the 
smallest  details  in  the  landscape. 

As  soon  as  Galope-Chopine's  great  hat  was  quite  out  of 
sight.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  went  out  and  turned  to  the  left  to 
gain  a  view  of  the  church  at  Fougeres  ;  but  the  shed  hid  it 
from  her  completely.  Then  she  turned  her  gaze  ujxjn  the 
Couesnon  valley,  which  lay  beneath  her  eyes  like  a  great  sheet 
of  muslin  ;  its  whiteness  made  the  lowering  sky,  with  its  gray 
snow  clouds,  seem  heavier  yet.  It  was  one  of  those  days 
when  nature  seems  to  be  dumb,  and  every  sound  is  absorbed 
by  the  air ;  so  that  although  the  Blues  and  Counter-Chouans 
were  traversing  the  country  in  three  lines,  in  the  form  of  a 
triangle  that  diminished  as  they  came  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  cabin,  the  silence  was  so  deep  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  felt 
a  trouble  caused  by  her  surroundings,  and  a  kind  of  physical 
sadness  was  added  to  her  mental  anguish.  There  was  calamity 
in  the  air.  At  last,  in  a  sjxjt  where  the  vista  of  echatiers  was 
screened  off  by  a  few  trees,  she  saw  a  young  man  leaping  over 
the  bars  like  a  squirrel,  and  running  with  wonderfiil  speed. 

"  It  is  he  !  "  she  said  to  herself. 


310  THE   CHOUANS. 

The  Gars  was  dressed  like  any  other  Chouan.  His  blun- 
derbuss was  slung  behind  him  over  his  goatskin,  and  but  for 
his  grace  of  movement  he  would  have  been  unrecognizable. 
Marie  fled  into  the  cabin,  acting  upon  an  instinctive  impulse 
as  little  explainable  as  fear ;  but  almost  immediately  the 
young  chief  stood  at  a  distance  of  two  paces  from  her,  before 
the  hearth,  where  a  clear  and  glowing  fire  was  crackling. 
Neither  of  them  could  find  a  voice ;  each  of  them  feared  to 
move  or  to  look  at  the  other.  One  hope  united  their  thoughts  ; 
one  doubt  held  them  apart — it  was  agony  and  it  was  rap- 
ture. 

"Sir,"  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  at  last,  in  an  unsteady  voice, 
**  it  is  only  a  regard  for  your  safety  that  has  brought  me 
hither." 

"  For  my  safety  ?  "  he  asked,  with  bitterness  in  his  tones. 

"Yes,"  she  replied.  "So  long  as  I  remain  in  Fougeres 
your  life  is  imperiled.  My  love  for  you  is  too  great  to  pre- 
vent me  from  going  away  to-night.  You  must  not  seek  for 
me  there  again." 

"You  are  going  away,  dear  angel?  Then  I  shall  follow 
you." 

"You  will  follow  me?  How  can  you  think  of  it?  And 
how  about  the  Blues  ?  " 

"  Ah !  Marie,  my  beloved,  what  connection  is  there  be- 
tween the  Blues  and  our  love?  " 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  difficult  for  you  to  remain  in 
France  beside  me,  and  still  more  difficult  for  you  to  leave  it 
with  me." 

"Is  there  anything  impossible  for  a  lover  who  is  in  earn- 
est?" 

"  Ah  !  yes.  I  believe  that  everything  is  possible.  Have  I 
not  had  the  courage  to  give  you  up  for  your  own  sake  ?  " 

"  What !  you  give  yourself  to  a  horrible  being  whom  you 
did  not  love,  and  you  will  not  make  the  happiness  of  a  man 
who  worships  you  ?     A  man  whose  life  you  would  fill,  who 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A  MORROW.  311 

would  swear  to  be  yours  forever,  and  yours  only  ?     Listen  to 
me,  Marie — do  you  love  me?" 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"Then  be  mine." 

"  Have  you  forgotten  that  I  resumed  my  vile  part  of  court- 
esan, and  that  it  is  you  who  must  be  mine?  If  I  am  deter- 
mined to  fly  from  you,  it  is  in  order  that  I  may  not  draw  down 
upon  your  head  the  scorn  that  may  be  poured  on  mine.  Per- 
haps, but  for  that  fear " 

"But  if/  fear  nothing?" 

"Who  will  convince  me  of  it?  I  am  distrustful.  Who, 
in  my  position,  would  not  be  distrustful?  If  the  love  that 
each  of  us  inspires  in  the  other  cannot  last,  let  it  at  least  be 
absolute,  so  that  we  may  joyfully  sustain  the  burden  of  the 
world's  injustice.  What  have  you  done  for  my  sake?  You 
desire  me.  Do  you  think  that  that  raises  you  very  much 
above  the  level  of  others  who  have  hitherto  seen  me  ?  Have 
you  risked  your  Chouans  for  an  hour's  happiness,  taking  no 
more  thought  for  them  than  I  once  took  for  the  Blues  that 
were  murdered  when  everything  was  lost  for  me  ?  And  what 
if  I  were  to  bid  you  renounce  your  ideas,  your  hopes,  your 
king,  of  whom  I  am  jealous,  and  who  perhaps  will  deride  you 
when  you  die  for  him,  while  I  could  die  for  you  as  a  sacred 
duty.     How  if  I  required  you  to  make  your  submission  to  the 

First  Consul,  so  that  you  might  follow  me  to  Paris  ? How 

if  I  ordained  that  we  should  go  to  America,  that  we  might 
live  far  away  from  the  world  where  all  is  vanity,  so  that  I 
might  know  whether  you  really  love  me  for  my  own  sake,  as 
I  love  you  at  this  moment?  To  sum  it  all  up  in  a  word — if 
I  set  myself  to  drag  you  down  to  my  level  instead  of  raising 
myself  to  yours,  what  would  you  do?  " 

"  Hush,  Marie  !  do  not  slander  yourself.  Poor  child,  I 
have  read  your  thoughts.  If  my  first  desire  became  passion, 
so  my  passion  is  now  turned  into  love.  Dear  soul  of  my  soul, 
you  are  as  noble  as  your  name,  your  soul  is  as  lofty  as  you 


312  THE   CHOUANS. 

are  beautiful;  I  know  it  now.  My  name  is  noble  enough, 
and  I  feel  that  I  myself  am  great  enough  to  compel  the  world 
to  accept  you.  Is  this  because  I  feel  a  presentiment  of  un- 
dreamed of  happiness  without  an  end  with  you  ?  Is  it  because 
I  feel  that  I  recognize  in  you  the  priceless  qualities  of  soul 
that  constrain  us  to  love  one  woman  forever?  I  do  not  know 
why  it  is,  but  my  love  is  infinite,  and  I  feel  that  I  can  no 
longer  live  without  you — that  my  life  would  be  loathsome  to 
me  if  you  were  not  always  near  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  near  you  ? '  " 

"  Oh,  Marie,  you  will  not  understand  your  Alphonse." 

"Ah  !  Do  you  think  to  honor  me  greatly  by  offering  me 
your  name  and  your  hand?"  she  asked  in  seeming  disdain, 
fixing  her  steady  eyes  upon  the  Marquis,  as  if  to  detect  his 
every  thought.  "And  do  you  know  whether  you  will  love 
me  in  six  months'  time  ?  And  what  would  be  my  outlook 
then  ?  No,  no ;  a  mistress  is  the  only  woman  who  can  be 
certain  of  the  reality  of  the  feeling  that  a  man  shows  for  her. 
Duty,  and  legal  sanctions,  and  the  world,  and  the  common 
interest  of  children  are  but  sorry  aids  to  her  power ;  for  if  it 
is  lasting,  her  pride  in  it  and  her  happiness  will  enable  her  to 
endure  the  heaviest  troubles  the  world  can  give.  To  be  your 
wife,  and  incur  the  risk  of  one  day  being  burdensome  to  you? 
Rather  than  to  face  that  fear,  I  choose  a  transient  love,  but  a 
love  that  is  true  while  it  lasts,  though  it  should  lead  to  death 
and  misery  in  the  end.  Yes,  better  than  any  other,  could  I 
be  a  virtuous  mother  and  a  devoted  wife ;  but  if  such  sentiments 
are  to  dwell  for  long  in  a  woman's  heart  a  man  must  not 
marry  her  in  a  fit  of  passion.  Besides  this,  do  I  myself  know 
that  I  shall  care  for  you  to-morrow?  No;  I  will  not  bring 
trouble  upon  you.  I  am  about  to  leave  Brittany,"  she  said, 
as  she  noticed  that  he  wavered.  **  I  am  going  back  to  Paris, 
and  you  must  not  go  thither  in  search  of  me " 

"Well,  then,  if  on  the  morning  of  the  day  after  to-morrow 
you  see  smoke  rising  from  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice,  I  shall  be 


A  DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  318 

with  you  in  the  evening.  I  will  be  your  lover,  your  husband, 
whatever  you  would  have  me  be.  I  shall  have  dared  all 
things." 

"Oh  !  Alphonse,"  she  cried  in  her  intoxication,  "do  you 
love  me  so  well  that  you  will  risk  your  life  for  me,  in  this 
way,  before  you  make  it  mine?" 

He  made  no  answer  ;  he  looked  at  her,  and  she  lowered  her 
eyes  ;  but  from  her  eager  face,  he  knew  that  her  fevered  frenzy 
equalled  his  own,  and  he  held  out  his  arms  to  her.  Carried 
away  by  this  madness,  Marie  was  about  to  sink  back  languidly 
upon  Montauran's  breast,  determined  that  the  surrender  of 
herself  should  be  an  error  that  should  bring  her  the  greatest 
happiness,  since  in  this  way  she  risked  her  whole  future,  which 
would  have  been  more  certain  if  she  had  issued  victorious 
from  this  final  ordeal.  But  as  she  laid  her  head  on  her  lover's 
shoulder,  a  faint  sound  echoed  outside  the  house.  She  tore 
herself  away  from  him  as  if  she  had  been  suddenly  aroused  from 
sleep,  and  sprang  out  of  the  hovel.  This  enabled  her  to 
recover  her  self-possession  to  some  extent,  and  to  think  over 
her  situation. 

"  He  would  have  taken  me,  and  perhaps  have  laughed  at 
me  afterwards,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Ah  !  if  I  could  bring 
myself  to  believe  that,  I  would  kill  him.  Ah  !  not  just  yet  !  " 
she  added,  as  she  caught  sight  of  Beau-Pied,  and  made  a  sign, 
which  the  soldier  understood  with  wonderful  quickness. 

The  poor  fellow  turned  on  his  heel  at  once  and  made  as 
though  he  had  seen   nothing.     Mile,  de  Verneuil  went  sud- 
denly back  into  the  hut,  with  the  first  finger  of  her  right  hand 
laid  upon  her  lips  in  a  way  that  recommended  silence  to  the  1 
young  chief.  , 

"  They  are  there  !  "  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  low  with 
horror. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  " 

"The  Blues."      .' 

"  Ah  !  I  will  not  die  without " 


314  THE    CHOUANS. 

*'Yes,  take  it." 

He  clasped  her,  as  she  stood  there  cold  and  poweness,  and 
pressed  upon  her  lips  a  kiss  full  of  rapture  and  of  ghastly  fear, 
for  it  might  be  at  once  the  first  kiss  and  the  last.  Then 
together  they  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  the  door,  with 
their  heads  in  such  a  position  that  they  could  watch  every- 
thing without  being  seen.  The  Marquis  saw  Gudin  at  the 
head  of  a  dozen  men  holding  the  foot  of  the  Couesnon  valley ; 
then  he  turned  and  looked  along  the  vista  of  echaliers ;  seven 
soldiers  were  on  guard  over  the  great  rotten  tree  trunk.  He 
climbed  upon  the  cask  of  cider  and  broke  a  hole  through  the 
shingle  roof,  so  as  to  spring  out  on  to  the  knoll  behind  the 
house,  but  he  quickly  drew  back  his  head  through  the  gap  he 
had  just  made,  for  Hulot,  on  the  summit,  had  cut  off  the  way 
to  Fougeres.  He  looked  for  a  moment  at  Marie,  who  uttered 
a  despairing  cry  ;  for  she  heard  the  tramp  of  the  three  detach- 
ments who  had  met  at  last  about  the  house. 

"  Go  out  first,"  he  said  ;  "  you  will  save  my  life." 

For  her  those  words  were  sublime.  Full  of  happiness,  she 
went  and  stood  in  the  doorway,  while  the  Marquis  cocked  his 
blunderbuss.  The  Gars  calculated  the  distance  between  the 
cabin  door  and  the  echalier,  suddenly  confronted  the  seven 
Blues,  riddled  the  group  with  shot,  and  made  his  way  through 
their  midst.  All  three  detachments  flung  themselves  upon 
the  echalier  that  the  chief  had  just  cleared,  only  to  see  him 
running  across  the  field  with  incredible  swiftness. 

*'  Fire !  fire !  in  the  devil's  name !  You  are  no  French- 
men !     Fire,  you  wetches  !  "  thundered  Hulot. 

As  he  called  these  words  from  the  top  of  the  knoll,  his  own 
men  and  Gudin's  troop  fired  a  volley  point  blank,  which, 
luckily,  was  badly  aimed.  The  Marquis  had  already  reached 
the  echalier  at  the  other  end  of  the  nearest  field,  and  was  just 
entering  the  next,  when  he  was  all  but  overtaken  by  Gudin, 
who  had  flung  himself  after  him  in  hot  pursuit.  When  the 
Gars  heard  the  footsteps  of  his  formidable    antagonist   not 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  315 

many  yards  behind  him,  he  redoubled  his  speed  ;  but  in  spite 
of  this,  both  Gudin  and  the  Marquis  reached  the  third 
echaUer  almost  at  the  same  time.  Montauran  adroitly  flung 
his  blunderbuss  at  Gudin's  head,  and  struck  the  Counter- 
Chouan  a  blow  that  made  him  slacken  his  pace.  It  is 
impossible  to  describe  Marie's  agony  of  mind,  and  the 
intense  interest  with  which  Hulot  and  his  troops  watched  this 
spectacle,  each  one  unconsciously  imitating  the  gestures  of  the 
two  runners  in  a  dead  silence.  The  Gars  and  Gudin  both 
reached  the  screen  of  copse,  now  white  with  hoarfrost,  when 
the  officer  suddenly  fell  back  and  disappeared  behind  an  apple 
tree.  Some  score  of  Chouans,  who  had  not  dared  to  fire  for 
fear  of  killing  their  leader,  now  appeared,  and  riddled  the 
tree  with  balls.  All  Hulot's  little  band  set  out  at  a  run  to 
rescue  Gudin,  who,  being  without  weapons,  fled  towards  them 
from  one  apple  tree  to  another,  choosing  the  moments  when 
the  "  Chasseurs  du  Roi "  were  reloading,  for  his  flight.  He  was 
not  long  in  jeopardy.  The  Counter-Chouans  joined  the 
Blues;  and,  with  Hulot  at  their  head,  they  came  to  the  young 
officer's  assistance  just  at  the  place  where  the  Marquis  had 
flung  away  his  blunderbuss. 

As  they  came  up,  Gudin  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  foe,  who 
was  sitting  exhausted  beneath  one  of  the  trees  in  the  little 
copse ;  and  leaving  his  comrades  to  shoot  from  behind  their 
cover  at  the  Chouans  who  were  entrenched  behind  a  hedge 
along  the  side  of  the  field,  he  made  a  circuit  round  them  and 
went  in  the  direction  of  the  Marquis  with  the  eagerness  of  a 
beast  of  prey.  When  the  "Chasseurs  du  Roi "  saw  his  manoeu- 
vre they  uttered  fearful  yells  to  warn  their  chief  of  his  danger  ; 
then,  after  firing  a  round  at  the  Counter-Chouans,  with 
poacher's  luck,  they  tried  to  hold  their  own  against  them  ;  but 
the  Counter-Chouans  boldly  climbed  the  bank  which  served 
their  enemies  as  a  rampart,  and  took  a  murderous  revenge. 
Upon  this  the  Chouans  made  for  the  road  that  ran  beside  the 
enclosure  in  which  the  skirmish  had  taken  place,  and  made 


316  THE  CHOUANS. 

themselves  masters  of  the  high  ground,  abandoned  by  a 
blunder  of  Hulot's.  Before  the  Blues  knew  where  they  were, 
the  Chouans  had  entrenched  themselves  among  the  gaps  in  the 
crests  of  the  rocks;  and  thus  sheltered,  they  could  pick  off 
Hulot's  men  in  safety,  should  the  latter  show  any  disposition 
to  follow  them  thither,  and  thus  prolong  the  fight. 

Whilst  Hulot  and  a  few  of  his  soldiers  were  going  slowly 
towards  the  copse  in  search  of  Gudin,  the  men  of  Fougeres 
stayed  behind  to  strip  the  dead,  and  dispatch  the  living 
Chouans,  for  no  prisoners  were  taken  on  either  side  in  this 
terrible  war.  The  Marquis  being  in  safety,  both  Chouans  and 
Blues  recognized  the  strength  of  their  respective  positions,  and 
the  futility  of  continuing  the  struggle,  so  that  neither  party 
now  thought  of  anything  but  of  beating  a  retreat. 

"If  I  lose  this  young  man,"  Hulot  exclaimed,  as  he  care- 
fully scanned  the  copse,  "  I  will  never  make  another  friend." 

"  Oho  !  "  said  one  of  the  lads  from  Fougeres,  "  there's  a 
bird  here  with  yellow  feathers,"  and  he  held  up  for  his  fellow- 
countrymen's  inspection  a  purse  full  of  gold  pieces  that  he 
had  just  found  in  the  pocket  of  a  stout  man  in  black  clothes. 

"But  what  have  we  here?"  asked  another,  as  he  drew  a 
breviary  from  the  dead  man's  overcoat.  "Here  be  holy 
goods;  this  is  a  priest!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  flung  the 
breviary  down. 

"The  robber!  He  will  make  bankrupts  of  us!  "  said  a 
third,  who  had  only  found  two  crowns  of  six  francs  each  in 
the  ])Ockets  of  the  Chouan  that  he  was  stripping. 

"  Yes,  but  he  has  a  famous  pair  of  shoes,"  said  a  soldier, 
who  made  as  though  he  would  help  himself  to  them. 

"You  shall  have  them  if  they  fall  to  your  share,"  a 
Fougerais  answered,  as  he  dragged  them  off  the  feet  of  the 
dead  Chouan,  and  flung  them  down  on  a  pile  of  goods 
already  heaped  together. 

A  fourth  Counter-Chouan  took  charge  of  the  money,  so  as 
to  divide  it  when  the  soldiers  belonging  to  the  party  should 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A    MORROW.  317 

return.  Hulot  came  back  with  the  young  officer,  whose  last 
attempt  to  come  up  with  the  Gars  had  been  as  useless  as  it  was 
dangerous,  and  found  a  score  of  his  own  men  and  some  thirty 
Counter-Chouans  standing  round  eleven  of  their  dead  foes, 
whose  bodies  had  been  flung  into  a  furrow  below  the  hedge. 

"Soldiers!"  Hulot  shouted  sternly;  "I  forbid  you  to 
take  any  part  of  those  rags.  Fall  in,  and  look  sharp  about 
it!" 

''It  is  all  very  well  about  the  money,  commandant,"  said 
one  of  the  men,  exhibiting  for  Hulot's  benefit  a  pair  of  shoes 
out  of  which  his  five  bare  toes  were  protruding;  "but  those 
shoes  would  fit  me  like  a  glove,"  he  went  on,  pointing  the 
butt  end  of  his  gun  at  the  pair  of  iron-bound  shoes  before 
him. 

"  So  you  want  a  pair  of  English  shoes  on  your  feet !  "  was 
Hulot's  reply. 

"But  ever  since  the  war. began  we  have  always  shared  the 

booty "  began  one  of  the  Fougerais  in  a  respectful  voice. 

Hulot  broke  in  upon  him  roughly  with — 

"You  fellows  can  follow  your  customs;  I  make  no  ob- 
jection. 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Gudin,  there  is  a  purse  here,  and  it  is  not  so 
badly  off  for  louis  ;  you  have  been  at  some  trouble,  so  your 
chief  will  not  object  to  your  taking  it,"  said  one  of  his  old 
comrades,  addressing  the  officer. 

Hulot,  in  annoyance,  looked  at  Gudin,  and  saw  him  turn 
pale. 

"  It  is  my  uncle's  purse  !  "  the  young  fellow  exclaimed. 
Exhausted  and  weary  as  he  was,  he  went  a  step  or  two  towards 
the  heap  of  bodies,  and  the  first  that  met  his  eyes  happened 
to  be  that  of  his  own  uncle.  He  had  scarcely  caught  sight 
of  the  florid  face,  now  furrowed  with  bluish  lines,  of  the  gun- 
shot wound  and  the  stiffened  arms,  when  a  smothered  cry 
broke  from  him,  and  he  said,  "  Let  us  march,  commandant !  " 

The  Blues  set  off,  Hulot  supporting  his  young  friend,  who 


318  THE   CHOUANS. 

leaned  upon  his  arm.  "  Tonnerre  de  Dieu!^'  said  the  old 
soldier.     *'  Never  mind  !  " 

**  But  he  is  dead!"  Gudin  replied;  "he  is  dead!  He 
was  the  only  relation  I  had  left,  and  though  he  cursed  me,  he 
was  fond  of  me.  If  the  King  had  come  back,  the  whole 
country  would  have  wanted  my  head,  but  the  old  fellow's 
cassock  would  have  screened  me." 

"What  a  fool!"  remarked  the  National  Guards,  who 
stayed  behind  to  divide  the  booty;  "the  old  boy  was  well 
off,  and  as  things  fell  out,  he  had  not  time  to  make  a  will  to 
disinherit  his  nephew." 

When  the  plunder  had  been  divided,  the  Counter-Chouans 
started  after  the  little  battalion  of  Blues,  and  followed  after 
them  at  a  distance. 

As  the  day  wore  away,  there  was  a  dreadful  sense  of  un- 
easiness in  Galope-Chopine's  hovel,  where  life  had  hitherto 
been  so  simple  and  so  free  from  anxiety.  Barbette  and  her 
little  lad  went  home  at  the  hour  when  the  family  usually  took 
their  evening  meal ;  the  one  bore  a  heavy  burden  of  furze, 
and  the  other  a  bundle  of  fodder  for  the  cattle.  Mother  and 
son  entered  the  hut,  and  looked  round  in  vain  for  Galope- 
Chopine.  Never  had  their  wretched  room  looked  so  large  to 
them,  nor  seemed  so  empty.  The  fireless  hearth,  the  darkness 
and  the  stillness  all  foreboded  calamity  of  some  kind. 

At  nightfall  Barbette  hastened  to  light  a  bright  fire  and  two 
orihis — for  so  they  call  their  resin  candles  in  the  country  that 
lies  between  the  shores  of  Armorica  and  the  district  of  the 
Upper  Loire,  and  the  word  is  in  use  even  on  this  side  of 
Amboise  in  the  Vendomois. 

Barbette  set  about  her  preparations  with  the  deliberation 
that  characterizes  all  actions  performed  under  the  influence 
of  deep  feeling.  She  listened  to  the  slightest  sound  ;  the 
wailing  of  the  gusts  of  wind  often  deceived  her,  and  brought 
her  to  the  door  of  her  wretched  hovel,  only  that  she  might 
go  sadly  back  again.     She  rinsed  a  couple  of  pitchers,  filled 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  319 

them  with  cider,  and  set  them  on  the  long  table  of  walnut 
wood.  Again  and  again  she  looked  at  her  little  boy,  who  was 
watching  the  baking  of  the  buckwheat  cakes,  but  she  could 
not  bring  herself  to  speak  a  word  to  him.  Once  the  little 
lad  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  nails  in  the  wall  from  which  his 
father  was  wont  to  hang  his  duck  gun,  and  Barbette  shuddered 
when  she  noticed,  as  he  had  also  noticed,  that  the  space  was 
vacant.  The  silence  was  unbroken  save  for  the  lowing  of  the 
cows,  and  the  sound  at  regular  intervals  of  the  drippings  from 
the  cider  barrel.  The  poor  woman  sighed  as  she  poured  out 
into  three  brown  earthenware  porringers  a  sort  of  soup,  made 
of  milk,  cakes  cut  into  dice,  and  cooked  chestnuts. 

"  They  fought  in  the  field  that  belongs  to  La  Beraudidre," 
said  the  little  boy. 

"  Go  and  have  a  look  there,"  his  mother  answered. 

The  little  fellow  ran  off,  and  made  out  the  faces  of  the  heap 
of  dead  by  the  moonlight ;  his  father  was  not  among  them, 
and  he  came  back  whistling  joyfully,  for  he  had  picked  up  a 
few  coins  that  the  victors  had  overlooked  and  trampled  into 
the  mud.  He  found  his  mother  busy  spinning  hemp,  seated 
upon  a  stool  by  the  fireside.  He  shook  his  head  at  the  sight 
of  Barbette,  who  did  not  dare  to  believe  in  any  good  news. 
It  was  ten  o'clock  by  St.  Leonard's  Church,  and  the  little 
fellow  went  to  bed,  after  lisping  his  prayer  to  the  Holy  Virgin 
of  Auray.  At  daybreak  Barbette,  who  had  not  slept  all  night, 
gave  a  cry  of  joy  as  she  heard  a  sound  in  the  distance  that  she 
recognized;  it  was  Galope-Chopine's  step  and  his  heavy- 
bound  shoes,  and  he  himself  soon  showed  his  sullen  counte- 
nance. 

"Thanks  to  St.  Labre,  to  whom  I  have  promised  a  fine 
wax-candle,  the  Gars  is  saved  !  Do  not  forget  that  we  now 
owe  three  candles  to  the  saint." 

With  that  Galope-Chopine  seized  upon  a  pitcher  and  gulped 
down  the  contents  without  taking  a  breath.  When  his  wife 
had  put  the  soup  before  him,  and  had  helped  him  to  rid  him- 


320  THE    CHOUANS. 

self  of  his  duck-gun,  he  seated  himself  on  the  bench  of  walnut 
wood  and  said,  as  he  drew  near  the  fire,  "  How  could  the 
Blues  and  Counter-Chouans  have  come  here?  There  was  a 
fight  going  on  at  Florigny.  What  devil  can  have  told  them 
that  the  Gars  was  in  our  house  ?  Nobody  knew  about  it  ex- 
cept us,  and  the  Gars,  and  that  pretty  lass  of  his." 

The  woman  turned  pale. 

"  The  Counter-Chouans  made  me  believe  that  they  were 
the  gars  from  Saint  Georges,"  she  made  answer,  trembling, 
"and  I  myself  told  them  where  the  Gars  was." 

Now  it  was  Galope-Chopine's  turn  to  grow  pale  ;  he  set  his 
porringer  down  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

**  I  sent  our  little  chap  to  warn  you,"  the  terrified  Barbette 
went  on  ;  "  he  did  not  find  you." 

The  Chouan  rose  to  his  feet  and  dealt  his  wife  such  a  violent 
blow,  that  she  fell  back  half-dead  upon  the  bed. 

"  Accursed  garce,''  he  said,  *•'  you  have  killed  me  !  " 

Then  terror  seized  him,  and  he  took  his  wife  in  his  arms. 
"Barbette!  "  he  cried,  "Barbette!  Holy  Virgin,  my  hand 
was  too  heavy  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  that  Marche-a-Terre  will  get  to  know  about 
it?"  she  said,  when  she  opened  her  eyes  again. 

"  The  Gars  has  given  orders  for  an  inquiry  to  be  made,  so 
as  to  know  where  the  treachery  came  from,"  answered  the 
Chouan.  v 

"  Did  he  tell  Marche-a-Terre?" 

"  Pille-Miche  and  Marche-a-Terre  were  at  Florigny." 

Barbette  breathed  more  freely. 

"  If  they  touch  a  single  hair  of  your  head,"  she  said,  "  I 
will  rinse  their  glasses  with  vinegar." 

"Ah!  I  have  no  appetite  now!"  Galope-Chopine  ex- 
claimed dejectedly. 

His  wife  set  another  full  pitcher  before  him,  but  he  gave  no 
heed  to  it.  Two  great  tears  left  their  traces  on  Barbette's 
cheeks,  and  moistened  the  wrinkles  on  her  withered  face. 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  321 

**  Listen,  wife.  To-morrow  morning  you  must  make  a  heap 
of  faggots  on  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice  to  the  rigiit  of  St. 
Leonard,  and  set  fire  to  them.  That  is  the  signal  agreed 
upon  between  the  Gars  and  the  old  rector  of  Saint  Georges, 
who  will  come  and  say  a  mass  for  him." 

"Is  he  going  to  Fougeres?  " 

"  Yes.  He  is  going  to  see  his  pretty  lass,  and  on  that 
account  I  shall  have  running  about  to  do  to-day.  I  am  pretty 
sure  that  he  means  to  marry  her  and  to  take  her  away  with 
him,  for  he  told  me  to  hire  horses  and  to  have  them  ready 
all  along  the  Saint  Male  Road."  Thereupon  Galope-Chopine, 
being  tired  out,  went  to  bed  for  a  few  hours,  and  afterwards 
went  about  his  errands. 

He  came  in  again  the  next  morning,  having  faithfully 
carried  out  the  Marquis'  instructions  ;  and  when  he  learned 
that  Marche-a-Terre  and  Pille-Miche  had  not  put  in  an  appear- 
ance, he  dispelled  his  wife's  fears,  so  that  she  set  out  for  the 
crags  of  St.  Sulpice  with  an  almost  easy  mind.  On  the  pre- 
vious evening  she  had  made  a  pile  of  faggots,  now  white  with 
rime,  upon  the  knoll  that  faced  the  suburb  of  St.  Leonard. 
She  held  her  child  by  the  hand,  and  the  little  fellow  carried 
some  glowing  ashes  in  a  broken  sabot. 

His  wife  and  son  had  hardly  disappeared  behind  the  shed, 
when  Galope-Chopine  heard  two  men  jump  over  the  last  of 
the  series  of  echaliers.  By  degrees  he  made  out  two  angular 
figures,  looking  like  vague  shadows  in   a  tolerably  thick  fog. 

"There  are  Pille-Miche  and  Marche-a-Terre,"  he  said 
within  himself,  and  trembled  as  the  two  Chouans  showed  their 
dark  countenances  in  the  little  yard.  Beneath  their  huge 
battered  hats  they  looked  not  unlike  the  foreground  figures 
that  engravers  put  into  landscapes. 

"Good-day,  Galope-Chopine,"  said  Marche-a-Terre 
soberly. 

"Good-day,  M.  Marche-d-Terre,"   Barbette's  husband  re- 
spectfully  answered.     "Will  you  come  inside  and  empty  a 
21 


322  THE   CHOUANS. 

pitcher  or  two?    I  have  some  cold  cakes  and  fresh  butter 
here." 

"That  is  not  to  be  refused,  cousin,"  said  Pille-Miche,  and 
the  two  Chouans  came  in.  There  was  nothing  to  alarm 
Galope-Chopine  in  this  beginning ;  he  hastened  to  his  great 
cider  butt  and  filled  three  pitchers,  while  Marche-a-Terre 
and  Pille-Miche,  seated  upon  the  polished  bench  on  either 
side  of  the  long  table,  cut  slices  of  the  cakes  for  themselves, 
and  spread  them  with  the  rich  yellow  butter  that  exuded  little 
beads  of  milk  under  the  pressure  of  the  knife.  Galope- 
Chopine  set  the  foaming  pitchers  full  of  cider  before  his  vis- 
itors and  the  three  Chouans  fell  to  ;  but  from  time  to  time 
the  master  of  the  house  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  Marche-a- 
Terre  as  he  eagerly  satisfied  his  thirst. 

"Pass  me  your  snuff-box,"  Marche-a-Terre  remarked  to 
Pille-Miche. 

The  Breton  gave  it  a  few  vigorous  shakes,  till  several 
pinches  lay  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  then  he  snuffed  the 
powdered  tobacco  like  a  man  who  wished  to  fortify  himself 
for  serious  business. 

"It  is  cold,"  Pille-Miche  remarked,  and  rose  to  shut  the 
upper  part  of  the  door. 

The  dim  foggy  daylight  now  only  entered  the  room  through 
the  little  window,  so  that  only  the  table  and  the  two  benches 
were  faintly  visible,  but  the  red  glow  of  the  firelight  filled  the 
place.  Galope-Chopine  had  just  refilled  the  pitchers  and 
had  set  them  before  his  guests  ;  but  they  declined  to  drink, 
flung  their  large  hats  aside,  and  suddenly  assumed  a  solemn 
expression.  This  gesture  and  the  look  by  which  they  took 
counsel  of  each  other  sent  a  shudder  through  Galope-Chopine, 
who  seemed  to  read  thoughts  of  bloodshed  lurking  beneath 
those  red  woolen  bonnets. 

"Bring  us  your  hatchet,"  said  Marche-a-Terre. 

"  But  what  do  you  want  with  it,  M.  Marche-a-Terre  ?  " 

"  Come,  cousin,  you  know  quite  well  that  you  are  doomed," 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  323 

said  Pille-Miche,  putting  away  the  snuff-box  that  Marche-a- 
Terre  had  returned  to  him. 

Both  of  the  Chouans  got  up  together  and  seized  their 
carbines. 

'•  M.  Marche-a-Terre,  I  did  not  say  one  word  about  the 
Gars." 

"Get  your  hatchet,  I  tell  you,"  was  the  Chouan's  answer. 

The  wretched  Galope-Chopine  stumbled  over  his  child's 
rough  bedstead,  and  three  five-franc  pieces  fell  out  on  to  the 
floor.     Pille-Miche  picked  them  up. 

"  Oho  !  the  Blues  have  given  you  new  coin  !  "  cried  Marche- 
a-Terre. 

"  I  have  not  said  one  word  ;  that  is  as  true  as  that  St. 
Labre's  image  stands  there,"  Galope-Chopine  replied.  "  Bar- 
bette mistook  the  Counter-Chouans  for  the  gars  from  Saint- 
Georges  ;  that  was  all." 

"  Why  do  you  prate  about  your  business  to  your  wife?" 
Marche-a-Terre  answered  roughly. 

"And  besides,  we  don't  ask  you  for  excuses,  cousin;  we 
want  your  hatchet.     You  are  doomed." 

At  a  sign  from  his  comrade,  Pille-Miche  helped  him  to 
seize  the  victim.  Galope-Chopine's  courage  broke  down 
when  he  found  himself  in  the  hands  of  the  Chouans.  He 
fell  on  his  knees  and  held  up  his  despairing  hands  to  his 
executioners. 

"Good  friends,"  he  cried,  "and  you,  cousin,  what  will 
become  of  my  little  lad  ?" 

"  I  will  look  after  him,"  said  Marche-a-Terre. 

"  Dear  comrades,"  Galope-Chopine  began  again  with 
blanched  cheeks,  "  I  am  not  ready  for  death.  Will  you  send 
me  out  of  the  world  without  shrift  ?  You  have  the  right  to 
take  my  life,  but  you  have  no  right  to  rob  me  of  eternal 
bliss." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Marche-a-Terre,  as  he  looked  at 
Pille-Miche. 


324  THE   CHOUANS. 

The  two  Chouans  remained  in  this  most  awkward  predica- 
ment for  a  moment  or  two,  in  utter  inability  to  resolve  the 
case  of  conscience.  Galope-Chopine,  meanwhile,  listened  to 
the  slightest  noise  made  by  the  wind,  as  if  he  had  not  yet  lost 
all  hope.  He  looked  mechanically  at  the  cider  butt ;  the 
regular  sound  of  the  dripping  leakage  made  him  heave  a 
melancholy  sigh.  Suddenly  Pille-Miche  clutched  the  sufferer's 
arm,  drew  him  into  a  corner,  and  said  to  him — 

"  Confess  your  sins  to  me.  I  will  repeat  them  to  a  priest 
of  the  true  Church,  and  he  will  give  me  absolution  ;  if  there 
is  any  penance,  I  will  do  it  for  you." 

Galope-Chopine  obtained  some  respite  by  the  way  in  which 
he  made  his  confession  ;  but  in  spite  of  the  number  of  his 
sins  and  the  full  account  which  he  gave  of  them,  he  came  at 
last  to  the  end  of  the  list. 

'^Alas!"  he  said,  when  he  had  finished,  "since  I  am 
speaking  to  you,  my  cousin,  as  to  a  confessor,  I  affirm  to  you, 
by  the  holy  name  of  God,  that  I  have  nothing  to  reproach 
myself  with,  unless  it  is  that  I  have  now  and  then  buttered 
my  bread  a  little  too  well ;  and  I  call  St.  Labre  over  there 
above  the  chimney-piece  to  bear  witness  that  I  have  not  said 
a  word  about  the  Gars.  No,  my  friends,  I  did  not  betray 
him." 

•*  All  right,  get  up,  cousin ;  you  will  explain  all  that  to  the 
bon  Dieu  when  the  time  comes." 

"  Let  me  say  one  little  word  of  good-bye  to  Barbe " 

"  Come,  now,"  said  Marche-a-Terre,  "  if  you  want  us  not 
to  think  more  ill  of  you  than  we  can  help,  behave  yourself 
like  a  Breton,  and  die  decently." 

The  two  Chouans  seized  on  Galope-Chopine  again,  and 
stretched  him  on  the  bench,  where  he  lay  making  no  sign  of 
resistance,  save  convulsive  movements  prompted  by  physical 
fear ;  there  was  a  heavy  thud  of  the  hatchet,  and  a  sudden 
end  of  his  smothered  cries ;  his  head  had  been  struck  off  at  a 
blow.     Marche-a-Terre  took  it  up  by  a  lock  of  hair,  and  went 


CONFESS      YOUR     SiNS     TO     ME." 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A  MORROW.  325 

out  of  the  hut.  He  looked  about  him  and  found  a  great  nail 
in  the  doorway,  about  which  he  twisted  the  strand  of  hair, 
and  so  suspended  the  bloody  head,  without  even  closing  the 
eyes.  The  two  Chouans  washed  their  hands  leisurely  in  a 
great  earthen  pan  full  of  water,  put  on  their  hats,  took  up 
their  carbines,  and  sprang  over  the  echalier,  whistling  the  tune 
of  the  ballad  of  "  The  Captain."  At  the  end  of  the  field 
Pille-Miche  began  in  a  hoarse  voice  to  sing  some  odd  stanzas 
of  the  simple  poem — 

The  first  town  that  they  came  until 

Her  lover  has  lighted  down, 
And  he  has  clad  that  bonny  lass 

In  a  milk-white  satin  gown : 

The  next  town  that  they  came  until 

He  has  lighted,  her  lover  bold, 
And  he   has  clad  her  in  white  silver 

And  in  the  ruddy  gold : 

But  when  she  came  to  his  regiment, 

So  fair  a  maid  to  greet, 
They  have  taken  webs  of  the  silken   cloth 

To  spread  them  beneath  her  feet. 

As  the  Chouans  went  further  and  further  away,  the  tune 
grew  less  distinct ;  but  there  was  such  a  deep  silence  over  the 
country  side  that  a  note  here  and  there  reached  Barbette  as 
she  returned  to  the  cabin,  holding  her  little  boy  by  the  hand. 
No  peasant  woman  can  hear  this  song  with  indifference,  so 
popular  is  it  in  the  west  of  France.  Barbette  therefore  un- 
consciously took  up  the  earlier  verses  of  the  ballad — 

We  must  away,  bonny  lassie. 

For  we  have  far  to  ride ; 
We  must  away  to  the  Avars,  lassie, 

I  may  no  longer  bide. 


826  THE   CHOUANS. 

Spare  thy  trouble,  oh,  bold  captain ! 

Save  that  treason  give  her  thee, 
She  shall  not  be  thine  in  any  land, 

Nor  yet  upon  the  sea ! 

Her  father  has  stripped  her  of  her  weed 

And  flung  her  into  the  wave. 
But  the  captain  has  swum  out  cannily 

His  lady-love  to  save. 

We  must  away,  bonny  lassie,  etc. 

Barbette  came  into  her  yard  just  as  she  had  reached  the 
place  in  the  ballad  at  which  Pille-Miche  had  taken  it  up  ;  her 
tongue  was  suddenly  petrified,  she  stood  motionless,  and  a 
loud  cry,  which  she  instantly  repressed,  came  from  her  open 
mouth. 

"Mother,  dear,  what  is  the  matter?"  asked  the  little  one. 

"You  must  go  alone,"  cried  Barbette  in  a  choking  voice, 
as  she  withdrew  her  hand  from  his,  and  pushed  him  from  her 
with  indescribable  roughness.  "You  have  a  father  and  mother 
no  longer  !  " 

The  child  rubbed  his  shoulder,  but  he  caught  sight  of  the 
head  as  he  cried,  and,  though  his  pink  and  white  face  was 
still  puckered  by  the  nervous  twitch  that  tears  give  to  the  fea- 
tures, he  grew  silent.  He  stared  wide-eyed  for  a  long  while 
at  his  father's  head,  with  a  stolid  expression  that  revealed  no 
emotion  whatever ;  his  face,  brutalized  by  ignorance,  at  last 
came  to  wear  a  look  of  savage  curiosity.  At  last  Barbette 
suddenly  took  her  child's  hand  in  a  powerful  grip,  and  hur- 
ried him  into  the  house.  One  of  Galope-Chopine's  shoes  had 
fallen  off  when  Pille-Miche  and  Marche-a-Terre  had  stretched 
him  on  the  bench  ;  it  had  lain  beneath  his  neck,  and  was 
filled  with  blood.  This  was  the  first  thing  that  met  the 
widow's  eyes. 

"Take  off  your  sabot,"  the  mother  said  to  her  son,  "and 
put  your  foot  in  that.    Good!    Always  remember  your  father's 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  337 

shoe,"  she  cried  in  piteous  tones.  "  Never  set  a  shoe  on  your 
foot  without  remembering  how  this  one  was  full  of  blood  that 
the  Chuins  spilt,  and  kill  the  Chuins  !  " 

She  shook  her  head  so  violently  as  she  spoke,  that  the  long 
locks  of  her  black  hair  fell  about  her  throat  and  gave  her  face 
a  sinister  look. 

"  I  call  St.  Labre  to  witness,"  she  went  on,  "  that  I  dedi- 
cate you  to  the  Blues.  You  shall  be  a  soldier,  so  that  you 
may  avenge  your  father.  Kill  them !  Kill  the  Chuins,  and 
do  as  I  do.  Ah  !  they  have  taken  my  husband's  head,  and  I 
will  give  the  head  of  the  Gars  to  the  Blues." 

She  sprang  to  the  bed  at  a  bqund,  drew  a  little  bag  of 
money  from  its  hiding-place,  took  her  astonished  child  by  the 
hand,  and  dragged  him  forcibly  with  her,  not  even  leaving 
him  time  to  put  on  his  sabot  again.  Then  they  both  set  out 
for  Fougeres  at  a  quick  pace,  neither  of  them  giving  a  look 
behind  them  at  the  cottage  they  vyere  forsaking.  When  they 
reached  the  summit  of  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice,  Barbette  stirred 
up  her  fire  of  faggots,  and  her  little  son  helped  her  to  pile  on 
bushes  of  green  broom  with  the  rime  upon  them,  so  as  to  in- 
crease the  volume  of  smoke. 

"  That  will  outlast  your  father's  life,  and  mine,  and  the 
Gars'  too,"  said  Barbette  savagely,  as  she  pointed  out  the  fire 
to  her  child. 

While  Galope-Chopine's  widow  and  son,  with  his  foot  dyed 
in  blood,  were  watching  the  eddying  smoke-wreaths  with 
brooding  looks  of  vengeance  and  curiosity,  Mile,  de  Verneuil's 
eyes  were  fastened  on  the  crag.  She  tried,  in  vain,  to  discern 
the  signal  there  of  which  the  Marquis  had  spoken.  The  fog 
had  grown  gradually  denser,  and  the  whole  district  was  en- 
velop)ed  in  a  gray  veil  that  hid  the  outlines  of  the  landscape, 
even  at  a  little  distance  from  the  town.  She  looked  with  fond 
anxiety  at  the  crags  and  the  castle,  and  at  the  buildings  that 
loomed  through  the  heavy  air  like  darker  masses  of  the  fog 
itself.     A  few  trees  round  about  her  window  stood  out  against 


328  THE   CHOUANS. 

the  bluish  background,  like  branching  corals  dimly  seen  in  the 
depths  of  a  calm  sea.  The  sun  had  given  to  the  sky  the 
yellowish  hues  of  tarnished  silver,  its  rays  shed  a  vague  red 
color  over  the  bare  branches  of  the  trees,  where  a  few  last 
withered  leaves  were  still  hanging.  But  Marie  felt  an  agita- 
tion of  soul  too  delightful  to  allow  her  to  draw  dark  auguries 
from  this  scene ;  it  was  too  much  out  of  harmony  with  the 
happiness  to  come,  of  which,  in  thought,  she  took  her  fill. 

Her  ideas  had  altered  strangely  in  the  past  two  days. 
Slowly  the  fierceness  and  uncontrolled  outbursts  of  her  pas- 
sions had  been  subdued  by  the  influence  of  the  even  warmth 
that  true  love  brings  into  a  life.  The  certain  knowledge  that 
she  was  beloved,  for  which  she  had  sought  through  so  many 
perils,  had  awakened  in  her  a  desire  to  return  within  the 
limits  in  which  society  sanctions  happiness — limits  which  de- 
spair alone  had  led  her  to  overstep.  A  love  that  only  lasts  for 
the  space  of  a  moment  seemed  to  her  to  betoken  weakness  of 
soul.  She  had  a  sudden  vision  of  herself,  withdrawn  from  the 
depths  wherein  misfortune  had  plunged  her,  and  restored 
again  to  the  high  position  in  which  she  had  been  placed  by 
her  father.  Her  vanity  awoke,  after  being  repressed  by  the 
cruel  vicissitudes  of  a  passion  that  had  met  at  times  with  hap- 
piness and  again  at  times  with  scorn.  She  saw  all  the  advan- 
tages conferred  by  an  exalted  rank.  When  she  was  married 
to  Montauran,  and  came  into  the  world  (so  to  speak)  as  a 
marquise,  would  she  not  live  and  act  in  the  sphere  to  which  she 
naturally  belonged  ?  She  could  appreciate  better  than  other 
women  the  greatness  of  the  feelings  and  thoughts  that  underlie 
family  life  ;  for  she  had  known  the  chances  of  a  life  of  con- 
tinual adventure.  The  responsibilities  and  cares  of  marriage 
and  motherhood  would  for  her  be  a  rest  rather  than  a  burden. 
She  looked  forward  longingly,  through  this  last  storm,  to  a 
quiet  and  virtuous  life,  as  a  woman  tired  of  virtuous  conduct 
might  give  a  covetous  glance  at  an  illicit  passion.  Virtue  for 
her  possessed  a  new  attraction.     She  turned  away  from  the 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  329 

window,  for  she  could  not  see  the  fire  on  the  crags  of  St. 
Sulpice. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  coquetted  overmuch  with  him?  But  was 
it  not  in  this  way  that  I  learned  how  well  I  was  beloved  ? 
— Francine,  it  is  a  dream  no  longer  !  To-night  I  shall  be  the 
Marquise  de  Montauran  !  What  can  I  have  done  to  deserve 
such  entire  happiness  ?  Oh  !  I  love  him — and  love  alone  can 
requite  love.  And  yet,  it  is  God's  purpose  doubtless  to  re- 
ward me,  because  I  have  kept  so  much  love  in  my  heart  through 
so  many  miseries ;  and  to  make  me  forget  all  that  I  have  suf- 
fered, for  I  have  suffered  greatly,  as  you  know,  dear  child." 

**  You,  Marie  !  You  to-night  the  Marquise  de  Montauran  ? 
Ah  !  until  it  is  over  and  done,  I  shall  think  that  I  am  dream- 
ing.    Who  taught  him  to  know  your  worth?  " 

"  But  he  has  not  only  a  handsome  face,  dear  child ;  he  has 
a  soul  too  !  If  you  had  seen  him  in  danger,  as  I  did  !  Ah  ! 
he  is  so  brave,  he  needs  must  know  how  to  love  well  !  " 

"  If  you  love  him  so  much,  why  do  you  allow  him  to  come 
to  Fougeres  ?  ' ' 

*'  Had  we  time  to  say  a  word  to  each  other  before  we  were 
surprised  ?  Besides  that,  is  it  not  one  more  proof  of  his 
love  ?  Can  one  ever  have  enough  of  them  ?  Do  my  hair. 
He  will  not  be  here  yet." 

But  stormy  thoughts  still  mingled  themselves  with  the 
anxieties  of  coquetry,  and  again  and  again  she  spoiled  the 
carefully  arranged  effects,  as  her  hair  was  dressed,  by  move- 
ments that  seemed  to  be  electric.  As  she  shook  out  a  curl 
into  waves,  or  smoothed  the  glossy  plaits,  a  trace  of  mistrust 
made  her  ask  herself  whether  the  Marquis  was  playing  her 
false.  And  then  came  the  thought  that  such  baseness  would 
be  unfathomable,  for  in  coming  to  seek  her  at  Fougeres  he 
had  boldly  laid  himself  open  to  swift  and  condign  punish- 
ment. She  studied  keenly  in  the  mirror  the  effects  of  a  side- 
glance,  of  a  smile,  of  a  slight  contraction  of  her  brows,  of  a 
gesture  of  anger,  scorn,  or  love ;  seeking  in  this  way  for  a 


330  THE    CHOUANS. 

woman's  wile  that  should  probe  the  young  chiefs  heart,  even 
at  the  last  moment, 

"You  are  right,  Francine,"  said  she,  "Like  you,  I  wish 
that  the  marriage  was  over.  This  is  the  last  of  my  over- 
clouded days — it  is  big  with  my  death  or  our  happiness.  This 
fog  is  detestable,"  she  added,  looking  afresh  at  the  summits 
of  St,  Sulpice  that  were  still  hidden  from  her. 

With  her  own  hands  she  arranged  the  curtains  of  silk  and 
muslin  that  draped  the  window,  taking  a  pleasure  in  shutting 
out  the  daylight,  and  so  producing  a  soft  gloom  in  the 
chamber. 

"Take  away  those  knick  knacks  that  cover  the  chimney- 
piece,  Francine,"  she  said;  "leave  nothing  there  but  the 
clock  and  the  two  Dresden  vases.  I  myself  will  put  into 
them  those  winter  flowers  that  Corentin  found  for  me.  Take 
all  the  chairs  out  of  the  room  ;  I  only  care  to  keep  the  arm- 
chair and  the  sofa;  and  when  you  have  done  these  things, 
child,  brush  the  carpet,  to  make  the  colors  look  brighter,  and 
put  candles  in  the  sconces  by  the  fireside  and  in  the  candle- 
sticks." 

Marie  looked  long  and  closely  at  the  ancient  tapestry  that 
covered  the  walls  of  the  room.  Her  innate  taste  discovered 
among  the  vivid  colors  of  the  warp  the  hues  which  could 
serve  to  bring  this  decoration  of  a  bygone  day  into  harmony 
with  the  furniture  and  accessories  of  the  boudoir — hues  which 
either  repeated  their  colors  or  made  a  charming  contrast  with 
them.  The  same  idea  pervaded  her  arrangement  of  the 
flowers  with  which  she  filled  the  fantastic  vases  about  the 
room.  The  sofa  was  drawn  up  to  the  fire.  Upon  two  gilded 
tables  on  either  side  of  the  bed,  which  stood  near  the  wall 
opposite  to  the  chimney-piece,  she  set  great  Dresden  vases 
filled  with  leafage  and  sweet-scented  flowers.  More  than  once 
she  trembled  as  she  arranged  the  voluminous  folds  of  green 
silk  brocade  about  the  bed,  and  followed  with  her  eyes  the 
curving  lines  of  the  flowered  pattern  on  the  coverlet  which 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  331 

she  laid  over  it.  About  such  preparations  there  is  an  indefin- 
able secret  happiness,  a  delightful  stimulation  that  causes  a 
woman  to  forget  all  her  doubts  in  the  pleasure  of  her  task,  as 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  did  at  this  moment.  Is  there  not  a  kind 
of  religious  sentiment  about  the  innumerable  pains  thus  under- 
taken to  please  a  beloved  being,  who  is  not  there  to  behold 
them  and  to  recompense  them  ;  but  who  must,  later  on,  feel 
the  significance  of  these  charming  preparations,  and  repay 
them  with  an  approving  smile?  In  moments  like  these, 
women  give  themselves  up  to  love  in  advance,  so  to  speak. 
There  is  not  one  who  does  not  say  to  herself,  as  Mile,  de  Ver- 
neuil said  in  her  thought,  "I  shall  be  very  happy  to-night." 
The  most  innocent  among  them  at  such  times  sets  this  sweet 
hope  in  the  least  folds  of  the  silk  or  muslin,  and  the  harmony 
that  she  establishes  about  her  steeps  the  whole  of  her  surround- 
ings in  an  atmosphere  of  love.  All  things  in  this  delicious 
world  of  her  creation  become  living  beings  and  onlookers  ; 
she  already  makes  them  accomplices  in  her  happiness  to  come. 
At  each  movement  and  at  each  thought,  she  grows  bold  to 
rob  the  future.  Soon  her  hopes  and  expectations  cease,  and 
she  reproaches  the  silence.  She  must  needs  take  the  slightest 
sound  for  a  presage,  till  doubt,  at  last,  sets  his  talons  in  her 
heart,  and  she  feels  the  torture  of  a  burning  thought  that 
surges  within  her,  and  that  brings  something  like  a  physical 
strain  to  bear  upon  her.  Without  the  sustaining  hope  of  joy, 
she  could  never  bear  those  alternations  of  exultation  and  of 
anguish. 

Time  after  time  Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil  had  drawn  the 
curtains  aside,  hoping  to  see  a  column  of  smoke  rising  above 
the  rocks  ;  but  the  fog  appeared  to  grow  denser  every  moment, 
until  at  last  its  grisly  hues  affected  her  imagination,  and 
seemed  to  be  full  of  evil  augury.  In  a  moment  of  impatience 
she  let  the  curtain  fall,  and  vowed  to  herself  that  she  would 
not  raise  it  again.  She  looked  discontentedly  round  the  room 
for  which  she  had  found  a  soul  and  a  language,  asked  herself 


332  THE   CHOUANS. 

whether  her  preparations  had  all  been  made  in  vain,  and  fell 
to  pondering  over  them,  at  the  thought. 

She  drew  Francine  into  the  adjoining  dressing-closet,  in 
which  there  was  a  round  casement  looking  out  upon  the  dimly 
visible  corner  of  the  cliffs  where  the  fortifications  of  the  town 
joined  the  rocks  of  the  promenade. 

**  Little  one,"  she  said,  "  put  this  in  order  for  me,  and  let 
everything  be  fresh  and  neat !  You  may  leave  the  salon  in 
disorder,  if  you  will,"  she  added,  with  one  of  the  smiles  that 
women  keep  for  those  who  know  them  best,  with  a  subtle 
delicacy  in  it  that  men  can  never  understand. 

"  Ah  !  how  lovely  you  look  !  "  cried  the  little  Breton  maid^ 

"Eh!  fools  that  we  all  are,  is  not  our  lover  our  fairest 
ornament?  " 

Francine  left  her  stretched  languidly  on  the  sofa.  As  she 
went  out  slowly  step  by  step,  she  began  to  see  that,  whether 
her  mistress  was  beloved  or  not,  she  would  never  betray  Mon- 
tauran. 

"  Are  you  sure  about  this  yarn  of  yours,  old  woman  ?  "  said 
Hulot  to  Barbette,  who  had  recognized  him  as  she  came  into 
Fougeres. 

"  Have  you  eyes  in  your  head?  There!  look  over  there 
at  the  rocks  of  St.  Sulpice,  master,  to  the  right  of  St.  Leon- 
ard !  " 

Corentin  scanned  the  ridge  in  the  direction  indicated  by 
Barbette's  finger;  the  fog  began  to  clear  off  a  little,  so  that 
he  could  distinctly  see  the  column  of  pale  smoke  of  which 
Galope-Chopine's  widow  had  spoken. 

"  But  when  is  he  coming  ?  Eh,  old  woman  ?  This  evening, 
or  to-night?" 

'*  I  know  nothing  about  it,  master,"  Barbette  answered. 

"  Why  do  you  betray  your  own  side  ?  "  asked  Hulot  sharply, 
when  he  had  drawn  the  peasant  woman  a  few  paces  away  from 
Corentin. 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  333 

"  Ah  !  my  lord  general,  look  at  my  lad's  foot !  See,  it  is 
dipped  in  my  husband's  blood  !  The  Chidns  butchered  him 
like  a  calf,  begging  your  pardon,  to  punish  him  for  those  three 
words  that  you  got  out  of  me  when  I  was  at  work  the  day 
before  yesterday.  Take  my  gars,  since  you  have  made  him 
fatherless  and  motherless,  but  make  a  thorough  Blue  of  him, 
master,  so  that  he  may  kill  many  Chuins  /  Look,  here  are 
two  hundred  crowns.  Take  charge  of  them  for  him.  With 
care,  they  ought  to  last  him  a  long  time,  for  it  took  his  father 
twelve  years  to  get  them  together." 

Hulot  stared  in  amazement  at  the  peasant  woman.  Her 
wrinkled  face  was  white,  and  her  eyes  were  tearless. 

"  But  what  will  become  of  you  yourself,  mother?  It  would 
be  better  if  you  took  charge  of  the  money  yourself,"  the 
commandant  suggested. 

She  shook  her  head  sadly.  "  I  need  nothing  more  now. 
You  might  clap  me  into  the  dungeons  below  Melusiana's  tower 
there"  (and  she  pointed  to  one  of  the  towers  of  the  castle), 
and  the  Chuins  would  find  means  to  get  at  me  and  kill  me 
there!" 

She  clasped  her  little  lad  in  her  arms,  and  her  brow  was 
dark  with  pain  as  she  looked  at  him ;  two  tears  fell  from  her 
eyes,  and  with  one  more  look  at  him  she  vanished. 

"Commandant,"  said  Corentin,  "here  is  an  opportunity, 
and  if  we  mean  to  profit  by  it,  we  shall  require  two  hard  heads 
rather  than  one.  We  know  everything,  and  yet  we  know 
nothing.  If  we  were  to  encompass  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  house 
at  once,  we  should  set  her  against  us,  and  you  and  I,  and  your 
Counter-Chouans,  and  both  your  battalions  all  put  together, 
would  be  no  match  for  that  girl,  if  she  has  taken  it  into  her 
head  to  save  her  ci-devant.  The  fellow  is  a  courtier,  and  con- 
sequently he  is  crafty;  he  is  a  young  man,  moreover,  and 
mettlesome.  We  could  never  get  possession  of  him  as  he 
enters  Fougeres  ;  he  may  possibly  be  in  Fougeres  already. 
And   as   for   making  domiciliary  visits,  the  thing  would  be 


384  THE   C HO  VANS. 

absurd  !  We  should  not  make  anything  by  it  j  it  would  give  the 
alarm,  and  it  would  plague  the  townspeople." 

"  I  shall  order  the  sentry  on  guard  at  St.  Leonard  to  lengthen 
his  round  by  two  or  three  paces,"  said  Hulot,  out  of  patience; 
"  in  that  way  he  will  come  in  front  of  Mile,  de  Verneuil's 
house.  I  shall  arrange  for  every  sentinel  to  give  a  signal,  and 
I  myself  shall  wait  in  the  guard-house.  Then  when  they  let 
me  know  that  any  young  man  whatever  has  entered  the  town, 
I  shall  take  a  corporal  and  four  men  with  me,  and " 

"  And  how  if  the  young  man  is  not  the  Marquis  after  all  ?  " 
said  Corentin,  interrupting  the  impetuous  soldier.  "  How  if 
the  Marquis  enters  by  none  of  the  gates?  If  he  is  in  Mile, 
de  Verneuil's  house  already?     If — if " 

Corentin  looked  at  the  commandant  with  an  air  of  superi- 
ority in  which  there  was  something  so  offensive  that  the  old 
soldier  exclaimed — 

"  Mille  tonnerres  de  Dieu  !  Go  about  your  business,  citizen 
of  hell !  What  is  all  that  tome?  If  this  cockchafer  tumbles 
into  one  of  my  guard-houses,  there  is  no  help  for  it,  but  I 
must  shoot  him  ;  if  I  hear  that  he  is  in  a  house,  there  is  no 
help  for  it,  but  I  must  search  the  house  and  take  him  and 
shoot  him.  But  the  devil  take  me  if  I  will  cudgel  my  brains 
to  soil  my  uniform " 

"Commandant,  the  letter  from  the  three  ministers  orders 
you  to  obey  Mile,  de  Verneuil." 

"  Let  her  come  to  me  herself,  citizen,  and  then  I  will  see 
what  I  will  do." 

"  Very  good,  citizen,"  Corentin  answered  stiffly  ;  "she  will 
not  be  very  long  about  it.  She  shall  tell  you  herself  the  hour 
and  the  minute  when  the  ci-devant  comes.  Possibly  she  will 
not  be  content  until  she  has  seen  you  post  the  sentries  and 
surround  her  house  !  ' ' 

**  He  is  the  devil  incarnate  !  "  said  Hulot  plaintively,  as  he 
watched  Corentin  stride  back  up  the  Queen's  Staircase,  where 
all  this  had  taken  place,  and  reach  St.  Leonard's  gate.     "  He 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  335 

is  for  betraying  the  citizen  Montauran  tome,  bound  hand  and 
foot,"  the  chief  of  demi-brigade  went  on,  speaking  to  him- 
self, "and  I  shall  have  the  plague  of  presiding  at  a  court-martial. 
After  all,"  said  he,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  "  the  Gars 
is  an  enemy  of  the  Republic  ;  he  killed  my  poor  friend  Gerard, 
and  in  any  case  he  is  an  aristocrat.     But  the  devil  take  it !  " 

He  turned  quickly  on  his  heel,  and  set  out  to  go  the  rounds 
of  the  town,  whistling  the  Marseillaise  as  he  went. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  steeped  in  those  musings  whose  secrets 
lie  buried,  as  it  were,  in  the  inmost  depths  of  the  soul ;  musings 
made  up  of  numberless  thoughts  and  emotions  at  war  with  one 
another,  which  have  often  proved  to  those  who  have  suffered 
from  them  that  a  stormy  and  passionate  life  may  be  lived  within 
four  walls ;  nay,  without  even  leaving  the  ottoman  whereon 
existence  is  burning  itself  away.  The  girl,  who  was  now  face 
to  face  with  the  catastrophe  of  a  drama  of  her  own  seeking, 
reviewed  each  scene  of  love  or  anger  that  had  stimulated  life 
so  powerfully  during  the  ten  days  that  had  elapsed  since  she 
first  met  the  Marquis.  While  she  mused,  the  sound  of  a  man's 
footstep,  echoing  in  the  adjoining  salon,  made  her  tremble  ;  the 
door  opened,  she  turned  her  head  quickly,  and  saw  Corentin. 

"  Little  trickster  !  "  said  the  superior  agent  of  police,  "  so 
you  still  have  a  mind  to  deceive  me?  Oh  !  Marie  !  Marie  ! 
you  are  playing  a  very  dangerous  game  when  you  determine 
on  the  strokes  without  consulting  me,  and  do  not  attach  me 
to  your  interests  !     If  the  Marquis  has  escaped  his  fate " 

"  It  has  been  through  no  fault  of  yours,  is  not  that  what 
you  mean?"  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  with  poignant  irony. 
"What  right  have  you  to  enter  my  house  a  second  time?" 
she  went  on  severely. 

"  Your  house  ?  "  he  queried  in  bitter  tones. 

"You  remind  me,"  she  replied  with  dignity,  "  that  I  am 
not  in  my  own  house.  Perhaps  you  deliberately  chose  it  out. 
so  that  you  might  the  more  surely  do  your  murderous  work 


336  THE   CHOUANS. 

here?  I  will  go  out  of  it.  I  would  go  out  into  a  desert 
rather  than  receive " 

"Spies — speak  out!"  Corentin  concluded.  "But  this 
house  is  neither  yours  nor  mine  ;  it  belongs  to  the  govern- 
ment; and  as  for  leaving  it,"  he  added,  with  a  diabolical 
glance  at  her,  "  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind." 

An  indignant  impulse  brought  Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  her 
feet.  She  made  a  step  or  two  towards  him,  but  suddenly 
came  to  a  standstill,  for  she  saw  Corentin  raise  the  curtain 
over  the  window,  and  the  smile  with  which  he  asked  her 
to  rejoin  him. 

"Do  you  see  that  column  of  smoke?"  he  said,  with  the 
unshaken  calmness  which  he  knew  how  to  preserve  in  his  hag- 
gard face,  however  deeply  his  feelings  had  been  stirred. 

**What  connection  can  there  possibly  be  between  my 
departure  and  those  weeds  that  they  are  burning?"  she 
inquired. 

"  Why  is  your  voice  so  changed  ?  "  asked  Corentin.  "  Poor 
little  thing,"  he  added  in  gentle  tones,  "  I  know  everything! 
The  Marquis  is  coming  to  Fougeres  to-day ;  and  you  had  no 
purpose  in  your  mind  of  giving  him  up  to  us  when  you  set 
this  boudoir  in  such  festive  array,  with  flowers  and  lights." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  turned  pale.  She  read  Montauran's 
death-warrant  in  the  eyes  of  this  tiger  in  human  shape,  and 
the  love  within  her  for  her  lover  grew  to  frenzy.  Every  hair 
of  her  head  seemed  to  be  a  source  of  hideous  and  intolerable 
pain,  and  she  sank  down  upon  the  ottoman.  For  a  moment 
Corentin  stood  with  his  arms  folded  across  his  chest.  He  was 
half-pleased  at  the  sight  of  a  torture  which  avenged  all  the 
sarcasm  and  scorn  that  the  woman  before  him  had  heaped 
upon  his  head,  half-vexed  to  see  a  being  suffer  whose  yoke  he 
had  liked  to  bear,  heavily  though  it  had  lain  on  him. 

"  She  loves  him  !  "  he  said  in  a  smothered  voice. 

"  Loves  him  f  "  she  cried  ;  "  what  does  that  word  signify  ? 
Corentin,  he  is  my  life,  my  soul,  my  very  breath " 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MO H HOW.  337 

The  man's  calmness  appalled  her ;  she  flung  herself  at  his 
feet. 

*'  Sordid  soul !  "  she  cried  ;  "  I  would  rather  abase  myself 
to  obtain  his  life  than  abase  myself  to  take  it!  Save  him  I 
will,  at  the  price  of  every  drop  of  blood  in  me.  Speak  1 
What  do  you  want?  " 

Corentin  trembled. 

"  I  came  to  take  my  orders  from  you,  Marie,"  he  said,  in 
dulcet  tones,  as  he  raised  her  with  polished  grace.  "Yes, 
Marie,  your  insults  will  not  check  my  devotion  to  you,  pro 
vided  that  you  never  deceive  me  again.  As  you  know,  Marie, 
no  one  ever  fools  me  and  goes  scatheless." 

"Oh  !  if  you  want  me  to  love  you,  Corentin,  help  me  to 
save  him  !  " 

"Well,  when  is  the  Marquis  coming?"  he  said,  forcing 
himself  to  ask  the  question  calmly. 

"Alas  !  I  do  not  know." 

They  both  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 

"  I  am  lost !  "  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  herself. 

"  She  is  playing  me  false,"  thought  Corentin.  "  Marie," 
he  went  on,  "  I  have  two  maxims  :  one  is,  never  to  believe  a 
word  that  women  say — which  is  the  way  to  avoid  being 
gulled  by  them  ;  and  the  other  is,  always  to  seek  to  discover 
whether  they  have  not  some  motive  for  doing  the  very  oppo- 
site of  the  thing  they  say,  and  for  behaving  in  a  fashion  the 
very  reverse  of  the  course  of  action  which  they  are  kind 
enough  to  disclose  to  us  in  confidence.  Now,  we  understand 
each  other,  I  think." 

"Admirably,"  replied  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  "You  require 
proofs  of  my  good  faith  ;  but  I  am  holding  them  back  until 
you  shall  give  me  proofs  of  yours." 

"  Good-bye,  mademoiselle,"  said  Corentin  drily. 

"  Come,"  the  girl  said,  smiling  at  him,  "  sit  down.     Seat 
yourself  there,  and  do  not  be  sulky,   or  I  shall  readily  find 
means  to  save  the  Marquis  without  your  aid.     As  for  the  three 
22 


338  THE   CHOUANS. 

hundred  thousand  francs  that  are  always  spread  out  before 
your  eyes,  I  can  lay  them  there  upon  the  chimney-piece,  in 
gold,  for  you  the  moment  that  the  Marquis  is  in  safety." 

Corentin  rose  to  his  feet,  drew  back  several  paces,  and 
looked  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 

"  You  have  grown  rich  in  a  very  short  time  !  "  said  he,  with 
ill-concealed  bitterness  in  his  tones. 

"  Montauran  himself  could  offer  you  very  much  more  for 
his  ransom,"  said  Marie,  with  a  pitying  smile.  "So  prove 
to  me  that  it  is  in  your  power  to  protect  him  against  all 
dangers,  and " 

**  Could  you  not  arrange  for  him  to  escape  the  very  moment 
that  he  arrives,"  Corentin  exclaimed  suddenly,  "  for  Hulot 
does  not  know  the  hour,  and " 

He  broke  off  as  though  he  blamed  himself  for  having  said 
too  much. 

"But  can  it  be  that  you  are  asking  me  for  a  stratagem  ?  " 
he  went  on,  smiling  in  the  most  natural  manner.  "  Listen, 
Marie,  I  am  certain  of  your  good  faith.  Promise  that  you 
will  make  good  to  me  all  that  I  am  losing  by  serving  you, 
and  I  will  see  that  that  blockhead  of  a  commandant  shall 
sleep  so  soundly  that  the  Marquis  will  be  as  much  at  liberty 
here  in  Fougdres  as  in  St.  James  itself." 

"I  give  you  my  word,"  the  girl  said,  with  a  kind  of 
solemnity. 

"Not  in  that  way  though,"  he  said.  "Swear  it  by  your 
mother." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  shivered ;  then  she  raised  a  trembling 
hand  and  took  the  oath  the  man  required  of  her.  His 
manners  underwent  an  instant  change. 

"You  may  do  what  you  will  with  me,"  said  Corentin. 
"Do  not  deceive  me  and  you  will  bless  me  this  evening." 

"I  believe  you,  Corentin  !  "  exclaimed  Mile,  de  Verneuil, 
quite  softened  towards  him. 

She  bowed  graciously  as  she  took  leave  of  him,  and  there 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A  MORROW.  339 

was  a  kindliness  not  unniingled  witii  wonder  in  her  smile, 
when  she  saw  the  expression  of  melancholy  tenderness  on  his 
face. 

"What  an  entrancing  creature!"  cried  Corentin,  as  he 
withdrew.  "And  is  she  never  to  be  mine,  never  to  be  the 
instrument  of  my  fortune  and  the  source  of  my  pleasures? 
To  think  that  she  should  throw  herself  at  my  feet !  Yes,  the 
Marquis  shall  die ;  and  if  I  can  only  obtain  her  by  plunging 
her  in  the  mire,  I  will  thrust  her  down  into  it.  Yet,  it  is  pos- 
sible that  she  mistrusts  me  no  longer,"  he  said  to  himself  as 
he  reached  the  square,  whither  he  had  unconsciously  bent  his 
steps.  "  A  hundred  thousand  crowns  at  a  moment's  notice  ! 
She  thinks  that  I  covet  money.  It  is  a  trick  of  hers,  or  else 
she  has  married  him." 

Corentin  did  not  venture  to  resolve  on  anything ;  he  was 
lost  in  thought.  The  fog,  which  the  sun  had  partially  dis- 
jjelled  at  noon,  gradually  thickened  again,  and  grew  so  dense 
at  last  that  Corentin  could  no  longer  see  the  trees,  though 
they  were  only  a  short  distance  from  him. 

'*  Here  is  a  fresh  piece  of  bad  luck,"  he  said  to  himself,  as 
he  went  slowly  back  to  his  lodging.  "It  is  impossible  to  see 
anything  six  paces  off.  The  weather  is  shielding  our  lovers. 
How  is  a  house  to  be  watched  when  it  is  enveloped  in  such  a 
fog  as  this?  Who  goes  there ?  "  he  called,  as  he  caught  an 
arm  belonging  to  some  unknown  person,  who  had  apparently 
scrambled  up  on  to  the  promenade  over  the  most  dangerous 
places  of  the  rock. 

"  It  is  I,"  was  the  guileless  answer  in  a  child's  voice. 

"Ah!  it  is  the  little  red-foot  lad.  Do  you  not  want  to 
avenge  your  father?"  Corentin  asked. 

"Yes!  "  cried  the  child. 

"Good.  Do  you  know  the  Gars  when  you  see  hira?" 
asked  Corentin. 

"Yes." 

"  Better  still.     Now  keep  with  me,  and  do  exactly  as  I  bid 


340  THE   CHOUANS. 

you  in  everything,  and  you  will  finish  your  mother's  work, 
and  earn  some  big  pennies.     Do  you  like  big  pennies?  " 

"Yes." 

"  So  you  like  big  pennies,  and  you  want  to  kill  the  Gars. 
I  will  take  care  of  you.  Now,  Marie  !  "  Corentin  said  within 
himself  after  a  pause;  ''  you  shall  give  him  up  to  us  yourself. 
She  is  too  impetuous  to  think  calmly  over  the  blow  that  I 
mean  to  give  her ;  and,  besides,  passion  never  reflects.  She 
does  not  know  Montauran's  handwriting  ;  now  is  the  time  to 
set  the  snare  into  which  her  nature  will  make  her  rush  blind- 
fold. But  Hulot  is  necessary  to  me  if  my  scheme  is  to  suc- 
ceed.    I  will  go  and  see  him. 

Meanwhile,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  and  Francine  were  ponder- 
ing devices  for  saving  the  Marquis  from  Corentin's  dubious 
generosity  and  Hulot's  bayonets. 

'*I  will  go  and  warn  him  !  "  the  little  Breton  maid  cried. 

"  Mad  girl !  do  you  know  where  he  is?  I  myself,  with  all 
the  instincts  of  my  heart  to  guide  me,  might  search  a  long 
while  for  him  and  never  find  him." 

After  devising  a  goodly  number  of  the  wild  schemes  that 
are  so  easily  carried  out  by  the  fireside,  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
exclaimed,  "When  I  see  him,  his  peril  will  give  me  inspira- 
tion !  " 

Like  all  vehement  natures,  she  delighted  in  leaving  her 
course  undecided  till  the  last  moment — trusting  in  her  star,  or 
in  the  ready  wit  and  skill  that  seldom  desert  a  woman.  Per- 
haps nothing  had  ever  wrung  her  heart  so  violently  before. 
Sometimes  she  seemed  to  remain  in  a  kind  of  stupor,  with  her 
eyes  set  in  a  stare ;  sometimes  the  slightest  sound  shook  her 
from  head  to  foot,  as  some  half-uprooted  tree  quivers  violently 
when  the  woodman's  rope  about  it  drags  it  hastily  to  its  fall. 
There  was  a  sudden  loud  report  in  the  distance  as  a  dozen 
guns  were  fired.  Mlle.de  Verneuil  turned  pale,  caught  Fran- 
cine' s  hand,  and  said — 

*'  I  am  dying,  Francine ;  they  have  killed  him  !  " 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  341 

They  heard  the  heavy  footstep  of  a  soldier  in  the  salon,  and 
the  terrified  Francine  rose  to  admit  a  corporal.  The  Repub- 
lican made  a  military  salute,  and  presented  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
with  some  letters  written  on  soiled  paper.  As  he  received  no 
acknowledgment  from  the  young  lady  to  whom  he  gave  them, 
he  said  as  he  withdrew — 

"They  are  from  the  commandant,  madame." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil,  a  prey  to  dark  forebodings,  read  the 
letter,  which  Hulot  had  probably  written  in  haste — 

"  Mademoiselle,"  so  it  ran,  **  my  Counter-Chouans  have 
seized  one  of  the  Gars'  messengers,  who  has  just  been  shot. 
Among  the  letters  thus  intercepted  is  the  one  that  I  send, 
which  may  be  of  some  use  to  you,"  etc. 

"  Heaven  be  thanked,  it  was  not  he  whom  they  killed  !  " 
she  cried,  as  she  threw  the  letter  into  the  fire.  She  breathed 
more  freely,  and  eagerly  read  the  note  that  had  just  been  sent 
to  her.  It  was  from  the  Marquis,  and  appeared  to  be  addressed 
to  Mme.  du  Gua — 

"  No,  my  angel,  this  evening  I  shall  not  be  at  the  Vivetiere, 
and  this  evening  you  will  lose  your  wager  with  the  Count,  for 
I  shall  triumph  over  the  Republic  in-ihe  person  of  this  deli- 
cious girl,  who  is  certainly  worth  a  night,  as  you  must  agree. 
This  is  the  only  real  advantage  that  I  have  gained  in  the  cam- 
paign, for  La  Vendee  is  submitting.  There  is  nothing  left 
for  us  to  do  in  France,  and  we  will,  of  course,  return  to  Eng- 
land together.     But  serious  business  to-morrow  !  " 

The  note  slipped  from  her  fingers.  She  closed  her  eyes  and 
lay  back  in  absolute  silence,  with  her  head  propped  by  a  cush- 
ion. After  a  long  pause  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  clock  and 
read  the  hour  ;  it  was  four  in  the  afternoon, 

"  And  my  lord  is  keeping  me  waiting  !  "  she  said,  with  sav- 
age irony. 

"Oh!  perhaps  he  could  not  come!"  said  Francine,  by 
way  of  justification  for  his  failing  to  appear. 

"If  he  does  not  come,"  said  Marie,  in  a  smothered  voice, 


342  THE    CHOUANS. 

"  I  will  go  myself  to  find  him  !  But,  no,  he  cannot  be  much 
longer  now.     Francine,  am  I  very  beautiful  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  pale  !  " 

"  Look  round  !  "  Mile,  de  Verneuil  went  on  ;  "might  not 
the  perfumed  toom,  the  flowers,  and  the  lights,  this  intoxi- 
cating vapor  and  everything  here,  give  an  idea  of  a  paradise 
to  him  whom  to-night  I  will  steep  in  the  bliss  of  love?" 

"  What  is  the  matter,  mademoiselle?  " 

"  I  am  betrayed,  deceived,  thwarted,  cheated,  duped,  and 
ruined.  I  will  kill  him  !  I  will  tear  him  in  pieces  !  Oh ! 
yes,  there  was  always  something  contemptuous  in  his  manner 
that  he  scarcely  concealed,  but  I  would  not  see  it !  Oh  !  this 
will  kill  me  !  What  a  fool  I  am  !  "  she  laughed  ;  "  he  is  on 
his  way,  and  to-night  I  will  teach  him  that,  whether  wedded 
to  me  or  not,the  man  who  has  possessed  me  can  never  forsake  me 
afterwards.  My  revenge  shall  be  commensurate  with  his  offence 
— he  shall  die  in  despair  !  I  thought  that  there  was  some- 
thing great  in  him  ;  but  he  is  the  son  of  a  lackey,  there  is  no 
question  of  it.  Truly,  he  has  deceived  me  cleverly !  Even 
now,  I  can  scarcely  believe  that  the  man  who  was  capable  of 
giving  me  up  to  Pille-Miche  without  mercy  could  condescend 
to  trickery  not  unworthy  of  Scapin.  It  is  so  easy  to  dupe  a 
loving  woman,  that  it  is  the  lowest  depth  of  baseness  !  He 
might  kill  me ;  well  and  good  ;  but  that  he  should  lie  to  me, 
to  me  who  had  set  him  on  high  !  To  the  scaffold  with  him  ! 
I  wish  I  could  see  him  guillotined  !  Am  I  so  very  cruel  ?  He 
shall  go  to  his  death  covered  with  kisses  and  caresses,  which 
will  have  been  worth  twenty  years  of  life  to  him  !  " 

"Marie,"  said  Francine  with  angelic  meekness,  "be  the 
victim  of  your  lover,  as  so  many  another  has  been,  but  do  not 
be  his  mistress  or  his  executioner.  In  the  depths  of  your  heart 
you  can  keep  his  image,  and  it  need  not  make  you  cruel  to 
yourself.  If  there  were  no  joy  in  love  when  hope  is  gone, 
what  would  become  of  us,  poor  women  that  we  are  ?  The 
God  of  whom  you  never  think,   Marie,  will  reward  us   for 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  343 

having  submitted  to  our  lot  upon  earth — to  our  vocation  of 
loving  and  suffering." 

"  Little  puss,"  answered  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  as  she  stroked 
Francine's  hand,  "  your  voice  is  very  sweet  and  very  winning. 
Reason,  when  she  takes  your  form,  has  many  charms.  How 
I  wish  that  I  could  obey  you  !  " 

"  You  will  forgive  him?     You  will  not  give  him  up?  " 

"  Hush  !  do  not  speak  of  that  man  any  more.  Corentin 
is  a  noble  creature  compared  with  him.  Do  you  understand 
me?" 

She  rose  to  her  feet.  Her  wild  thoughts  and  unquenchable 
thirst  for  vengeance  were  concealed  beneath  the  dreadful 
quietness  of  her  face.  The  very  slowness  of  her  measured 
footsteps  seemed  to  betoken  the  fixed  purpose  in  her  mind  in 
an  indescribable  way.  Devouring  this  insult,  tormented  by 
her  own  thoughts,  and  too  proud  to  own  to  the  least  of  her 
pangs,  she  went  to  the  guard-house  in  St.  Leonard's  gate,  to 
ask  to  be  directed  to  the  commandant's  lodging.  She  had 
scarcely  left  the  house  when  Corentin  entered  it. 

"Oil,  M.  Corentin,"  cried  Francine,  "  if  you  are  interested 
in  that  young  man,  save  him  !  Mademoiselle  will  give  him 
up.     This  wretched  paper  has  ruined  everything." 

Corentin  took  up  the  letter  carelessly.  "Where  is  she 
gone?"  he  inquired. 

"I  do  not  know." 

"I  will  hurry  after  her,"  he  said,  "to  save  her  from  her 
own  despair." 

He  vanished,  taking  the  letter  with  him,  hurried  out  of  the 
house  with  all  speed,  and  spoke  to  the  little  boy  who  was 
playing  about  before  the  door. 

"  Which  way  did  the  lady  go  when  she  went  out  just  now?  " 

Galope-Chopine's  son  went  several  paces  with  Corentin, 
and  pointed  out  the  steep  road  which  led  to  St.  Leonard's  gate. 

"That  way,"  he  said,  without  hesitating,  faithful  to  the 
instinct  of  vengeance  that  his  mother  had  inspired  in  him. 


344  THE    CHOUANS. 

While  he  was  speaking  four  men  in  disguise  entered  Mile. 
de  Verneuil's  house ;  but  neither  Corentin  nor  the  little  boy 
saw  them. 

"  Go  back  to  your  post,"  the  spy  said.  "  Look  as  though 
you  were  amusing  yourself  by  turning  the  latches  on  the  shut- 
ters, but  keep  a  sharp  lookout  in  every  direction,  even  upon 
the  roofs." 

Corentin  sped  in  the  direction  pointed  out  by  the  child. 
He  thought  that  he  recognized  Mile,  de  Verneuil  in  the  fog, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  came  up  with  her  just  as  she  reached 
St.  Leonard's  gate. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  said  he,  offering  his  arm  to  her. 
"You  look  pale;  what  can  have  happened?  Is  it  fitting  for 
you  to  go  out  alone  in  this  way  ?    Take  my  arm." 

"Where  is  the  commandant?"  she  asked  him. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  scarcely  finished  the  sentence  when 
slie  heard  a  reconnoitring  party  moving  outside  St.  Leonard's 
gate,  and  soon  distinguished  Hulot's  deep  bass  voice  among 
the  other  confused  sounds. 

"  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  /*'  he  exclaimed.  "  I  have  never  seen 
it  thicker  than  it  is  just  now  when  we  are  making  the  rounds. 
The  ci-devant  stems  to  have  the  control  of  the  weather." 

"What  are  you  grumbling  at?"  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  as 
she  grasped  his  arm  tightly ;  "  the  fog  can  hide  vengeance  as 
well  as  perfidy.  Commandant,"  she  went  on  in  a  low  voice, 
"it  is  a  question  now  of  taking  such  measures  in  concert  with 
me  that  the  Gars  shall  not  escape  us  this  time." 

"  Is  he  in  your  house  ?  "  he  asked,  and  there  was  a  troubled 
sound  in  his  voice  that  showed  his  astonishment. 

"  No,"  she  replied;  "but  give  m.e  a  man  that  can  be  de- 
pended upon,  and  I  will  send  him  to  you,  to  warn  you  of  the 
Marquis'  arrival." 

"  What  are  you  doing?  "  Corentin  asked  with  eager  haste. 
"A  soldier  in  your  house  will  scare  him,  but  a  child  (I  will 
find  one)  will  not  awaken  suspicion " 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A    MORROW.  345 

"Commandant,"  Mile,  de  Verneuil  resumed,  "you  can 
surround  my  house  at  once,  thanks  to  this  fog  that  you  exe- 
crate. Post  soldiers  about  it  in  every  direction.  Place  a 
picket  in  St.  Leonard's  church  so  as  to  secure  the  esplanade, 
which  is  overlooked  by  my  windows.  Post  men  on  the 
promenade  itself;  for  though  my  window  is  twenty  feet  from 
the  ground,  despair  sometimes  gives  strength  sufficient  to 
overleap  the  most  perilous  distances.  Listen ;  I  shall  prob- 
ably send  this  gentleman  away  through  the  house  door ;  so  you 
must  give  the  task  of  watching  it  to  none  but  a  brave  man  ; 
for  no  one  can  deny  his  courage,"  she  said,  heaving  a  sigh, 
"and  he  will  fight  for  his  life." 

"Gudin  !"  cried  the  commandant. 

The  young  Fougerais  sprang  forward.  He  had  been  stand- 
ing in  the  midst  of  the  knot  of  men  who  had  returned  with 
Hulot,  and  who  had  remained  drawn  up  in  rank  at  a  little 
distance. 

"  Listen,  my  boy,"  the  old  soldier  said  in  low  tones,  "  this 
confounded  girl  is  betraying  the  Gars  to  us.  I  do  not  know 
why,  but  no  matter,  that  is  not  our  business.  Take  ten  men 
with  you  and  post  them  so  as  to  guard  the  blind-alley  and  the 
girl's  house  at  the  end  of  it ;  but  you  must  manage  so  that 
neither  you  nor  your  men  are  seen." 

"Yes,  commandant,  I  know  the  ground." 

"Well,  my  boy,"  Hulot  went  on,  "  I  will  send  Beau-Pied 
to  you  to  let  you  know  when  the  moment  comes  to  be  up  and 
doing.  Try  to  tackle  the  Marquis  yourself;  and  if  you  can 
kill  him,  so  that  I  shall  not  have  to  try  him  first  and  shoot  him 
afterward,  you  shall  be  a  lieutenant  in  a  fortnight,  or  my  name 
is  not  Hulot.  Here,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  as  he  pointed 
to  Gudin  ;  "here  is  a  brave  fellow  who  will  flinch  at  nothing. 
He  will  keep  a  sharp  lookout  before  your  house,  and  whether 
the  ci-devani  comes  out  or  tries  to  go  in,  he  will  not  miss 
him." 

Gudin  set  out  with  his  ten  soldiers. 


346  THE    CHOUANS. 

"  Do  you  clearly  understand  what  you  are  about  ?  "  Corentin 
murmured  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 

She  made  him  no  answer.  With  a  kind  of  satisfaction  she 
watched  the  men  start  under  the  orders  of  the  sub-lieutenant, 
to  post  themselves  on  the  promenade,  and  yet  others,  in 
obedience  to  Hulot's  directions,  took  up  their  position  along 
the  dark  walls  of  St.  Leonard's  church. 

"There  are  houses  adjoining  mine,"  she  said  to  the  com- 
mandant; "surround  them  also.  Let  us  not  lay  up  matter 
for  repentance  by  neglecting  a  single  precaution  that  we  ought 
to  take." 

"  She  is  mad,"  thought  Hulot. 

"  Am  I  not  a  prophet?  "  Corentin  said  in  his  ear.  "  The 
child  I  shall  send  to  the  house  is  the  little  gars  with  the  bloody 
foot,  so  that " 

He  did  not  finish.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  suddenly  darted 
away  towards  her  house,  whither  he  followed  her,  whistling 
like  a  happy  man.  When  became  up  with  her  she  had  already 
reached  her  doorstep,  where  Corentin  once  more  found  Galope- 
Chopine's  son. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "  take  this  little  fellow  with  you  ; 
you  could  not  have  a  more  guileless  and  active  messenger." 

Then  he  breathed  (so  to  speak)  the  following  words  into 
the  lad's  ear:  "  When  you  have  once  seen  the  Gars  within 
the  house,  no  matter  what  they  say  to  you,  run  away,  come 
and  find  me  at  the  guard-house,  and  I  will  give  you  enough 
to  find  you  in  bread  for  the  rest  of  your  life."  Corentin  felt 
his  hand  squeezed  hard  by  the  young  Breton,  who  followed 
Mile,  de  Verneuil. 

"  Now,  my  good  friends,  come  to  an  explanation  whenever 
you  like,"  cried  Corentin,  when  the  door  was  shut.  "If 
you  make  love,  my  Lord  Marquis,  it  will  be  over  your  own 
shroud  !  " 

Yet  Corentin  could  not  bring  himself  to  go  out  of  sight  of 
that  fatal  house,  and  betook  himself  to  the  promenade,  where 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  347 

he  found  the  commandant  busily  giving  orders.  Night  soon 
came  on.  Two  hours  passed  by,  and  still  the  different  sentries 
distributed  at  their  posts  had  seen  nothing  that  could  lead 
them  to  suspect  that  the  Marquis  had  come  through  the  triple 
line  of  men,  who  were  watching  from  their  hiding-places  along 
the  three  sides  of  the  Papegaut's  Tower  by  which  access  was 
possible.  Corentin  had  walked  from  the  promenade  to  the 
guard-house  a  score  of  times,  and  each  time  his  expectations 
had  been  disappointed,  and  his  young  messenger  had  not  yet 
come  to  find  him.  Plunged  in  deep  thought,  the  spy  strolled 
slowly  along  the  promenade,  undergoing  the  martyrdom  to 
which  three  terrible  conflicting  passions  subjected  him — a 
victim  to  love,  ambition,  and  greed  of  gold. 

It  struck  eight  on  all  the  clocks.  The  moon  rose  late,  so 
that  the  scene  on  which  this  drama  of  his  own  devising  was 
about  to  come  to  a  crisis  was  wrapped  in  appalling  gloom  by 
the  darkness  and  the  thick  fog.  The  agent  of  police  managed 
to  suppress  his  passions  ;  he  locked  his  arms  over  his  breast, 
and  never  took  his  eyes  off  the  window  that  stood  out  above 
the  tower  like  a  gleaming  phantom  shape.  Whenever  his 
steps  led  him  to  the  side  of  the  promenade  nearest  the  valleys, 
along  the  brink  of  the  precipices,  he  mechanically  scrutinized 
the  fog,  with  the  long  pale  streaks  of  light  flung  across  it  here 
and  there,  from  some  window  among  the  houses  in  the  town 
or  suburbs,  above  or  below  the  fortifications.  The  deep 
silence  that  prevailed  was  only  troubled  by  the  murmur  of  the 
Nan^on,  by  melancholy  sounds  at  intervals  from  the  belfry, 
or  by  the  footsteps  of  the  sentinels  and  the  clank  of  weapons, 
when  they  came  to  relieve  guard  hour  by  hour.  Everything, 
men  and  nature  alike,  had  grown  solemn. 

*'  It  is  as  dark  as  a  wolfs  throat,"  Pille-Miche  remarked 
just  then. 

"Go  along,"  replied  Marche-a-Terre,  "and  keep  as  quiet 
as  a  dead  dog." 

"  I  scarcely  dare  draw  my  breath,"  the  Chouan  retorted. 


348  THE   CHOUANS. 

"  If  the  man  who  let  a  stone  roll  down  just  now  wants  my 
knife  to  find  a  sheath  in  his  heart,  he  has  only  to  do  it  again," 
said  Marche-a-Terre,  in  so  low  a  voice  that  it  mingled  con- 
fusedly with  the  murmur  of  the  Nan^on. 

"  Why,  it  was  I,"  said  Pille-Miche. 

"  Well,  old  money-bag,  creep  along  on  your  belly  like  a 
snake,  or  we  shall  leave  our  carcases  here  before  there  is  any 
occasion  for  it." 

"  Hi !  Marche-a-Terre,"  the  incorrigible  Pille-Miche  began 
again.  He  had  laid  himself  flat  on  the  ground,  and  was 
using  both  hands  to  hoist  himself  on  to  the  path  where  his 
comrade  was,  and  now  he  spoke  in  the  ear  of  the  latter  in 
so  low  a  voice  that  the  Chouans  following  behind  him  did  not 
catch  a  syllable  that  he  said.  "Hi!  Marche-a-Terre,  if  we 
are  to  believe  our  Grand-Garce,  there  is  a  glorious  lot  of 
plunder  up  there.     Will  you  go  halves?  " 

"Listen,  Pille-Miche!"  said  Marche-a-Terre,  as,  still  flat 
on  his  stomach,  he  came  to  a  stop,  a  movement  imitated  by 
the  whole  troop  of  Chouans,  so  exhausted  were  they  by  the 
difficulties  of  their  progress  up  the  steep  sides  of  the  precipice. 

"I  know  you  for  one  of  those  honest  grab-alls,  who  are  as 
fond  of  giving  hard  knocks  as  of  taking  them,  when  there  is 
no  other  choice.  We  have  not  come  here  after  dead  men's 
shoes  ;  it  is  devil  against  devil,  and  woe  to  them  that  have  the 
shorter  claws  !  The  Grande-Garce  sent  us  here  to  rescue  the 
Gars.  That  is  where  he  is,  look  !  Lift  up  your  dog's  head 
and  look  at  that  window,  up  above  the  tower  !  "  It  was  on 
the  stroke  of  midnight  as  he  spoke.  The  moon  rose,  and  the 
fog  began  to  look  like  pale  smoke.  Pille-Miche  gripped 
Marche-a-Terre's  arm  violently,  and  pointed  out,  without 
making  a  sound,  the  gleaming  triangular  blades  of  several 
bayonets,  some  ten  feet  above  them. 

"The  Blues  are  there  already,"  said  Pille-Miche;  we  have 
not  a  chance  against  them." 

"  Patience!  "  replied  Marche-a-Terre;  "if  I  looked  into 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  349 

it  thoroughly  this  morning,  there  should  be,  somewhere  about 
the  base  of  the  Papegaut's  Tower  and  between  the  ramparts 
and  the  promenade,  a  space  where  they  are  always  heaping 
manure  ;  one  can  drop  down  on  to  it  as  if  it  were  a  bed." 

"If  St.  Labre  would  turn  all  the  blood  that  will  be  shed 
into  good  cider,  the  Fougeres  people  would  find  a  very  ample 
supply  of  it  to-morrow,"  remarked  Pille-Miche. 

Marche-a-Terre  laid  his  great  hand  over  his  friend's  mouth  ; 
then  the  muttered  caution  that  he  gave  passed  from  line  to 
line  till  it  reached  the  last  Chouan,  who  clung  aloft  to  the 
heather  on  the  schistous  rock.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Cor- 
entin  was  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  esplanade,  and  his 
ears  were  too  accustomed  to  vigilance  not  to  detect  the 
rustling  noises  made  by  the  shrubs  as  the  Chouans  pulled 
and  twisted  them,  and  the  faint  sound  of  the  pebbles  that 
fell  to  the  foot  of  the  precipice  below.  Marche-a-Terre 
apparently  possessed  the  gift  of  seeing  through  the  darkness, 
or  his  senses  had  become  as  acute  as  those  of  a  savage  by 
being  constantly  called  into  play.  He  had  caught  sight  of 
Corentin,  or  perhaps  he  had  scented  him  like  a  well-trained 
dog.  The  diplomatist  spy  listened  intently  to  the  silence, 
and  scanned  the  natural  wall  of  the  schist,  but  he  could  dis- 
cover nothing  there.  If  the  hazy  dubious  light  allowed  him 
to  see  a  few  of  the  Chouans  at  all,  he  took  them  for  fragments 
of  the  rock,  so  thoroughly  did  the  living  bodies  preserve  the 
appearance  of  inanimate  nature.  The  danger  to  the  troop 
did  not  last  long.  Corentin's  attention  was  called  away  by  a 
very  distinct  and  audible  sound  which  came  from  the  other 
end  of  the  promenade  at  a  spot  where  the  buttress-wall  came 
to  an  end  and  the  sheer  face  of  the  rock  began.  A  pathway 
that  ran  along  the  edge  of  the  schist  and  communicated  with 
the  Queen's  Staircase  also  ended  at  this  point,  just  where  the 
rock  and  the  masonry  met.  As  Corentin  reached  the  spot,  a 
form  rose  up  as  if  by  magic  before  his  eyes ;  and  when,  feel- 
ing doubtful  as  to  its  intentions,  he  stretched  out  a  hand  to 


350  THE   CHOUANS. 

lay  hold  of  the  being  (phantom  or  otherwise),  he  grasped  the 
soft  and  rounded  outlines  of  a  woman. 

**The  devil  take  it,  good  woman,"  he  muttered  in  a  low 
tone;  "if  you  had  happened  on  any  one  else,  you  might 
have  come  in  for  a  bullet  through  your  head.  Where  do  you 
come  from,  and  where  are  you  going  at  this  time  of  night  ? 
Are  you  dumb?" 

"It  really  is  a  woman,  at  any  rate,"  said  he  to  himself. 

Silence  was  growing  dangerous,  so  the  stranger  replied  in 
tones  that  showed  her  great  alarm — 

"  Oh  !  I  am  coming  back  from  an  up-sitting,  master." 

"It  is  the  Marquis'  make-believe  mother,"  said  Corentin 
to  himself.     "  Let  us  see  what  she  will  do." 

"All  right;  go  along  that  way,  old  woman,"  he  went  on 
aloud,  pretending  not  to  recognize  her.  "  Go  to  the  left  if 
you  don't  want  to  be  shot." 

He  stood  motionless,  till,  seeing  that  Mme.  du  Gua  turned 
in  the  direction  of  the  Papegaut's  Tower,  he  followed  her  at  a 
distance  with  diabolical  cunning.  While  this  fateful  meeting 
was  taking  place,  the  Chouans  had  very  cleverly  taken  up 
their  position  on  the  manure-heap  to  which  Marche-a-Terre 
had  guided  them. 

"  There  is  the  Grande-Garce  !  "  muttered  Marche-a-Terre 
to  himself,  while  he  shuffled  along  the  side  of  the  tower  as  a 
bear  might  have  done. 

"  Here  we  are  !  "  he  said  to  the  lady. 

"  Good  !  "  Mme.  du  Gua  replied.  "  If  you  can  find  a 
ladder  about  the  house  or  in  the  garden  that  comes  to  an  end 
about  six  feet  below  the  manure-heap,  the  Gars  will  be  saved. 
Do  you  see  the  round  window  up  there  ?  It  is  in  a  dressing- 
room  that  opens  out  of  the  bedroom  ;  and  you  must  reach  it. 
This  side  of  the  tower,  at  the  foot  of  which  you  are  standing, 
is  the  one  side  that  is  not  surrounded.  The  horses  are  ready ; 
and  if  you  have  guarded  the  ford  of  the  Nan^on,  we  ought 
to  have  him  out    of  danger    in   fifteen    minutes,    in   spite 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  351 

of  his  folly.     But  if  that  wench  tries   to   follow  him,  stab 
her." 

Corentin  now  perceived  through  the  gloom  that  a  few  of 
the  vague  shapes  which  he  had  at  first  taken  for  rocks  were 
moving  stealthily;  he  went  at  once  to  the  guard  at  St. 
Leonord's  gate,  where  he  found  the  commandant  fully  dressed, 
but  sleeping  on  a  camp  bed. 

"Let  him  alone!"  Beau-Pied  said  roughly  to  Corentin; 
"  he  has  only  just  lain  down  there." 

' '  The  Chouans  are  here ! ' '  Corentin  cried  alarmingly  in 
Hulot's  ear. 

"  Impossible  !  but  so  much  the  better,"  said  the  comman- 
dant, heavy  with  sleep  though  he  was ;  "  there  will  be  fighting 
at  any  rate!  " 

When  Hulot  came  to  the  promenade,  Corentin  pointed  out 
to  him,  through  the  darkness,  the  strange  position  occupied 
by  the  Chouans. 

"  They  have  either  outwitted  or  gagged  the  sentries  that  I 
posted  between  the  Queen's  Staircase  and  the  castle,"  ex- 
claimed the  commandant.  "By  Jove!  what  a  fog  it  is! 
But  patience  !  I  will  send  fifty  men  and  a  lieutenant  round 
to  the  base  of  the  cliff.  We  must  not  set  upon  them  from 
above,  for  the  brutes  are  so  tough  that  they  will  let  themselves 
drop  to  the  bottom  of  the  precipice  like  stones,  and  never 
break  a  limb." 

The  cracked  bell  in  the  church-tower  struck  two  as  the 
commandant  came  back  to  the  promenade,  after  taking  the 
most  stringent  measures  a  soldier  could  devise  for  surprising 
and  seizing  Marche-a-Terre  and  the  Chouans  under  his  com- 
mand. Every  guard  had  been  doubled,  so  that  by  this  time 
Mile,  de  Verneuil's  house  had  become  the  central  point  about 
which  a  small  army  was  gathered.  The  commandant  found 
Corentin  absorbed  in  contemplation  of  the  window  that  looked 
out  over  the  Papegaut's  Tower. 

"Citizen,"  said  Hulot,  addressing  him,  "it  is  my  belief 


352  THE   CIIOUANS. 

that  the  ci-devant  is  making  fools  of  us  all,  for  nothing  has 
stirred  so  far." 

''  There  he  is  !  "  cried  Corentin,  pointing  to  the  window. 
"  I  saw  a  man's  shadow  on  the  curtains.  But  I  do  not  under- 
stand what  has  become  of  my  little  boy.  They  have  killed 
him  or  gained  him  over.  Look  there,  commandant ;  do  you 
see  ?     It  is  a  man.     Let  us  go." 

"  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  !  I  am  not  going  to  arrest  him  in  bed. 
If  he  is  in  there,  he  is  sure  to  come  out ;  Gudin  will  not  miss 
him,"  replied  Hulot,  who  had  his  own  reasons  for  delay. 

"Come,  now,  commandant;  in  the  name  of  the  law,  I 
command  you  to  advance  instantly  upon  the  house." 

"You  are  a  pretty  fellow,  at  all  events,  to  think  to  order 
me  about." 

The  commandant's  wrath  did  not  trouble  Corentin. 

"  You  will  obey  me,"  he  said  coolly ;  "  for  here  is  an  order 
drawn  up  in  due  form,  and  signed  by  the  Minister  of  War, 
which  will  compel  you  to  do  so."  He  drew  a  paper  from  his 
pocket.  "  Do  you  really  think  that  we  are  fools  enough  to  let 
that  girl  act. according  to  her  own  notions?  We  are  stamping 
out  civil  war,  and  the  greatness  of  the  end  in  view  justifies  the 
littleness  of  the  means  employed." 

"I  take  the  liberty,  citizen,  of  sending  you  to ■    You 

understand?     That  is  enough,  then.     Put  your  best  foot  fore- 
most, and  let  me  alone  ;  and  do  it  in  less  than  no  time." 

"  Read  this  first  !  "  said  Corentin. 

"  Don't  plague  me  about  your  business,"  cried  Hulot, 
furious  at  receiving  orders  from  a  creature  in  his  opinion  so 
despicable. 

Galope-Chopine's  son  started  up  between  the  two  at  that 
moment  like  a  rat  out  of  a  hole  in  the  ground. 

"The  Gars  is  going  !  "  he  cried. 

"Which  way?" 

"  Along  the  Rue  St.  Leonard." 

**  Beau-Pied,"  Hulot  whispered  to  the  corporal,  who  was 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  35S 

Standing  beside  hiin,  "run  and  tell  your  lieutenant  to  ap- 
proach the  house,  and  to  keep  up  some  nice  little  file-firing 
upon  it ;  do  you  understand  ?  File  to  the  left,  and  march 
towards  the  tower,"  the  commandant  shouted  to  the  rest  of 
the  men. 

It  is  necessary,  if  the  close  of  the  drama  is  to  be  clearly 
understood,  to  return  and  to  enter  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  house 
with  her.  When  the  passions  are  excited  to  the  highest  pitch, 
the  intoxication  that  they  produce  is  far  more  complete  than 
anything  effected  by  those  paltry  stimulants — wine  and  opium. 
The  clearness  of  ideas  to  which  we  attain  at  such  times,  the 
subtle  keenness  of  our  overexcited  senses,  bring  about  the 
strangest  and  most  unexpected  results.  Beneath  the  arbitrary 
sway  of  one  sole  thought,  certain  temperaments  can  clearly 
perceive  the  least  perceptible  things,  while  the  most  obvious 
matters  are  for  them  as  though  they  had  no  existence.  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  kind  of  intoxication 
which  makes  our  actual  existence  seem  to  be  like  the  life  of  a 
somnambulist.  When  she  had  read  Montauran's  letter,  she 
had  ordered  all  things  in  such  a  way  that  he  could  not  escape 
her  vengeance,  just  as  eagerly  as  she  had  but  lately  made  every 
preparation  for  the  first  festival  of  her  love.  But  when  she 
saw  her  house  carefully  surrounded,  by  her  own  orders,  with  a 
triple  line  of  bayonets,  a  sudden  gleam  of  light  shone  through 
her  soul-  She  sat  in  judgment  upon  her  conduct,  and  thought 
with  a  kind  of  revulsion  that  she  had  just  perpetrated  a  crime. 
Her  first  uneasy  impulse  led  her  to  spring  to  the  threshold  of 
her  door,  and  to  stay  there  motionless  for  a  brief  space,  trying 
to  reflect,  but  utterly  unable  to  follow  out  a  train  of  thought. 
She  was  so  little  aware  of  what  she  had  just  done,  that  she 
Wondered  why  she  was  standing  in  the  vestibule  of  her  own 
house  holding  a  strange  child  by  the  hand.  Myriads  of  sparks 
like  little  tongues  of  flame  swam  in  the  air  before  her.  She 
took  a  step  or  two  to  shake  off  the  dreadful  numbness  that  had 
23 


364  THE   CHOUANS. 

crept  over  her  senses,  but  nothing  appeared  to  her  in  its  true 
shape  or  with  its  real  colors ;  she  was  like  one  that  slept.  She 
seized  the  little  boy's  hand  with  a  roughness  that  was  not 
usual  to  her,  and  drew  him  along  so  hurriedly,  that  she  seemed 
to  possess  the  activity  of  a  mad  woman.  She  saw  nothing 
whatever  in  the  salon  when  she  crossed  it,  though  three  men 
greeted  her,  and  stood  apart  to  allow  her  to  pass. 

*'  Here  she  is  !  "  said  one  of  them. 

"  She  is  very  beautiful !  "  the  priest  exclaimed. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  first  speaker,  "but  how  pale  and 
troubled  she  is " 

"  And  how  absent-minded  !  "  said  the  third  ;  "  she  does 
not  see  us." 

At  the  door  of  her  own  room  Mile,  de  Verneuil  saw  Fran- 
cine,  who  whispered  to  her  with  a  sweet  and  happy  face,  "  He 
is  there,  Marie  !  " 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  seemed  to  awake,  and  to  be  able  to 
think ;  she  looked  down  at  the  child  whose  hand  she  held, 
recognized  him,  and  said   to  Francine — 

"  Shut  this  little  boy  up  somewhere,  and  if  you  wish  me 
to  live,  be  very  careful  not  to  let  him  escape." 

While  she  slowly  uttered  the  words,  she  turned  her  eyes  on 
the  door  of  her  room,  on  which  they  rested  with  such  appall- 
ing fixity  that  it  might  have  been  thought  that  she  saw  her 
victim  through  the  thickness  of  the  panels.  She  softly  pushed 
the  door  open,  and  closed  it  without  turning  herself,  for  she 
saw  the  Marquis  standing  before  the  hearth.  He  was  hand- 
somely but  not  too  elaborately  dressed ;  and  there  was  an 
air  of  festival  about  the  young  noble's  attire  that  added  to 
the  radiance  with  which  lovers  are  invested  in  women's 
eyes.  At  the  sight  of  him,  all  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  presence 
of  mind  returned  to  her.  The  white  enamel  of  her  teeth 
showed  between  the  tightly-strained  lines  of  her  half-opened 
lips,  which  described  a  set  smile  that  expressed  dread  rather 
than  delight.    With  slow  steps  she  went  towards  the  young 


A  BAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  355 

noble,  and,  pointing  to  the  clock,  she  spoke  with  hollow 
mirth,  "A  man  who  is  worthy  of  love  is  well  worth  the 
anxiety  with  which  he  is  expected." 

But  the  violence  of  her  feelings  overcame  her ;  she  fell 
back  upon  the  sofa  that  stood  near  the  fire. 

"  Dear  Marie,  you  are  very  charming  when  you  are  angry  !  " 
said  the  Marquis,  seating  himself  beside  her,  taking  her 
passive  hand,  and  entreating  a  glance  which  she  would  not 
give.  "  I  hope,"  he  went  on,  in  a  tender  and  soothing  voice, 
"  that  in  another  moment  Marie  will  be  very  much  vexed  with 
herself  for  having  hidden  her  face  from  her  fortunate 
husband." 

She  turned  sharply  as  the  words  fell  on  her  ear,  and  gazed 
into  his  eyes. 

"What  does  that  terrible  look  mean?"  he  went  on, 
smiling.  "But  your  hand  is  as  hot  as  fire  !  My  love,  what 
is  it?" 

"  My  love  !  "  she  echoed,  in  a  stifled,  unnatural  voice. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  falling  on  his  knees  before  her,  and  taking 
both  her  hands,  which  he  covered  with  kisses  ;  "  yes,  ray  love, 
I  am  yours  for  life." 

Impetuously  she  pushed  him  from  her,  and  rose  to  her  feet. 
Her  features  were  distorted  ;  she  laughed  like  a  maniac  as  she 
said — 

"  You  do  not  mean  one  word  of  it ;  you  are  baser  than  the 
vilest  criminal  !  " 

She  sprang  quickly  towards  the  dagger  which  lay  beside  a 
vase,  and  flashed  it  within  a  few  inches  of  the  astonished 
young  man's  breast. 

"  Bah  !  "  she  said,  flinging  down  the  weapon,  "  I  have  not 
enough  esteem  for  you  to  kill  you  !  Your  blood  is  too  vile 
even  for  the  soldiers  to  shed.  I  see  nothing  but  the  execu- 
tioner before  you." 

The  words  came  from  her  with  difficulty,  and  were  uttered 
in  a  low  voice  ;  she  stamped  her  foot  like  a  spoiled  child  in 


856  THE    CHOUANS. 

a  passion.  The  Marquis  went  up  to  her  and  tried  to  clasp  her 
in  his  arms. 

"  Do  not  touch  me  !  "  she  cried,  drawing  back  in  horror. 

"She  is  mad!"  said  the  Marquis,  speaking  aloud  in  his 
despair. 

"  Yes,  I  am  mad,"  she  repeated,  "  but  not  yet  so  mad  as  to 
be  a  toy  for  you.  What  would  I  not  forgive  to  passionate 
love !  But  that  you  should  think  to  possess  me  without  any 
love  for  me !  That  you  should  even  write  and  say  so  to 
that " 

"To  whom  have  I  written?"  he  asked  in  amazement,  that 
was  clearly  unfeigned. 

"  To  that  virtuous  woman  that  wished  to  kill  me  !  " 

The  Marquis  turned  pale  at  this,  and  grasped  the  back  of 
the  armchair  by  which  he  was  standing  so  tightly  that  he  broke 
it,  as  he  cried — 

"  If  Mnie.  du  Gua  has  been  guilty  of  any  foul  play " 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  looked  round  for  the  letter  and  could 
not  find  it  again — she  called  Francine,  and  the  Breton  maid 
came. 

"Where  is  the  letter?" 

"M.  Corentin  took  it  away  with  him." 

"  Corentin  !  Ah  !  I  understand  everything  now.  That 
letter  was  his  doing.  He  has  deceived  me,  as  he  can  deceive, 
with  diabolical  ingenuity." 

She  went  to  the  sofa  and  sank  down  upon  it,  with  a 
piercing  wail,  and  a  flood  of  tears  fell  from  her  eyes.  Doubt 
and  certainty  were  equally  horrible.  The  Marquis  flung 
himself  at  her  feet,  and  clasped  her  to  his  breast,  saying 
over  and  over  again  for  her  the  only  words  that  he  could 
pronounce — 

"  Why  do  you  weep,  dear  angel  ?  What  is  the  trouble  ? 
Your  scornful  words  are  full  of  love.  Do  not  weep  !  I  love 
you  ;  I  love  you  forever  !  ' ' 

Suddenly  he  felt  that  she  clasped  him  to  her  with  super- 


A   £>AV  WITHOUT  A    MORROW.  357 

human  strength,  and  in  the  midst  of  her  sobs  she  said,  "  You 
love  me  still?" 

"Can  you  doubt  it?"  he  answered,  and  his  tone  was 
almost  sad. 

She  withdrew  herself  suddenly  from  his  arms,  and  sprang 
back  two  paces,  as  if  in  confusion  and  dread. 

"If  I  doubt  it?"  she  cried. 

She  saw  the  Marquis  smiling  at  her  with  such  gentle  irony 
that  the  words  died  away  on  her  lips.  She  let  him  take  her 
hand  and  lead  her  as  far  as  the  threshold.  Marie  saw,  at  the 
end  of  the  salon,  an  altar  that  had  been  hastily  erected  during 
her  absence.  The  priest,  who  had  resumed  his  ecclesiastical 
garb,  was  there ;  and  the  light  upon  the  ceiling  from  the 
shining  altar  candles  was  sweet  as  hope.  She  recognized  the 
two  men  who  had  before  saluted  her ;  they  were  the  Comte  de 
Bauvan  and  the  Baron  du  Guenic,  the  two  witnesses  whom 
Montauran  had  chosen. 

"Will  you  still  refuse?  "  the  Marquis  asked  her  in  a  low 
voice.  But  when  she  saw  the  scene  before  her,  she  shrank 
back  a  step  so  as  to  reach  her  own  room  again,  and  fell 
upon  her  knees  before  the  Marquis,  and  raised  her  hands  to 
him,  and  cried — 

"  Oh,  forgive  me  !  forgive  !  forgive " 

Her  voice  died  in  her  throat,  her  head  fell  back,  her  eyes 
were  closed,  and  she  lay  as  if  dead  in  the  arms  of  the  Marquis 
and  of  Francine.  When  she  opened  her  eyes  again  she  met 
the  gaze  of  the  young  chief — a  look  full  of  kindness  and  of 
love. 

"  Patience,  Marie  !     This  is  the  last  storm  !  "  he  said. 

"Yes,  the  last  !  "  she  echoed. 

Francine  and  the  Marquis  looked  at  each  other  in  surprise, 
but  she  enjoined  silence  on  them  both  by  a  gesture. 

"  Ask  the  priest  to  come,"  she  said,  "and  leave  me  alone 
with  him." 

They  withdrew. 


8.58  THE    CHOUANS. 

"Father,"  she  said  to  the  priest,  who  suddenly  appeared 
before  her,  "  when  I  was  a  child,  an  old  man  with  white  hair 
like  you  often  used  to  tell  me  that  if  it  is  asked  with  a  living 
faith,  one  can  obtain  anything  of  God  :  is  that  true  ?  " 

"  It  is  true,"  the  priest  answered  ;  "all  things  are  possible 
to  Him  who  has  created  all  things." 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  threw  herself  on  her  knees  with  incred- 
ible fervor. 

"  O  God  !  "  she  cried  in  her  ecstasy,  "  my  faith  in  Thee  is 
as  great  as  my  love  for  him  !  Inspire  me  !  Work  a  miracle 
here,  or  take  ray  life  !  " 

"  Your  prayer  will  be  heard,"  said  the  priest. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  came  out  to  meet  the  eyes  of  those 
assembled,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  the  old  white-haired 
priest.  It  was  a  profound  emotion  hidden  in  the  depths  of 
her  heart  that  gave  her  to  her  lover's  love ;  she  was  more 
beautiful  now  than  on  any  bygone  day,  for  such  a  serenity  as 
painters  love  to  give  to  martyrs'  faces  had  set  its  seal  upon 
her,  and  lent  grandeur  to  her  face. 

She  gave  her  hand  to  the  Marquis,  and  together  they 
went  towards  the  altar,  where  they  knelt.  This  marriage, 
which  was  about  to  be  solemnized,  two  paces  from  the  nuptial 
couch  ;  the  hastily  erected  altar,  the  crucifix,  the  vases,  the 
chalice  brought  secretly  by  the  priest,  the  fumes  of  incense 
floating  beneath  the  cornices,  which  hitherto  had  only  seen 
the  steam  of  every-day  meals,  the  priest,  who  had  simply 
slipped  a  stole  over  his  cassock,  the  altar  candles  in  a  dwelling- 
room — all  united  to  make  a  strange  and  touching  scene  which 
completes  the  picture  of  those  days  of  sorrowful  memory, 
when  civil  discord  had  overthrown  the  most  sacred  institu- 
tions. In  those  times  religious  ceremonies  had  all  the  charm 
of  mysteries.  Children  were  privately  baptized  in  the  rooms 
where  their  mothers  still  groaned.  As  of  old,  the  Lord  went 
in  simplicity  and  poverty  to  console  the  dying.  Young  girls 
received  the  sacred  wafer  for  the  first  time  on  the  spot  where 


A   DAT  WITHOUT  A   MORRO W.  359 

they  had  been  playing  only  the  night  before.  The  marriage 
of  the  Marquis  and  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  about  to  be  solemn- 
ized, like  so  many  other  marriages,  with  an  act  forbidden  by  the 
new  legislation  ;  but  all  these  marriages,  celebrated  for  the 
most  part  beneath  the  oak  trees,  were  afterwards  scrupulously 
sanctioned  by  law.  The  priest  who  thus  preserved  the  ancient 
usages  to  the  last  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  faithful  to 
their  principles  in  the  height  of  the  storm.  His  voice, 
guiltless  of  the  oath  required  by  the  Republic,  only  breathed 
words  of  peace  through  the  tempest.  He  did  not  stir  up 
the  fires  of  insurrection,  as  the  Abbe  Gudin  had  been  wont 
to  do  ;  but  he  had  devoted  himself,  like  many  others,  to  the 
dangerous  task  of  fulfilling  the  duties  of  the  priest  towards 
such  souls  as  remained  faithful  to  the  Catholic  Church.  In 
order  to  carry  out  his  perilous  mission  successfully,  he  made 
use  of  all  the  pious  artifices  to  which  persecution  compelled 
him  to  resort ;  so  that  the  Marquis  had  only  succeeded  in 
finding  him  in  one  of  those  underground  hiding-places 
which  bear  the  name  of  "The  Priest's  Hole,"  even  in  our 
own  day.  The  sight  of  his  pale  worn  face  inspired  such 
devout  feelings  and  respect  in  others,  that  it  transformed 
the  worldly  aspect  of  the  salon  and  made  it  seem  like  a  holy 
place.  Everything  was  in  readiness  for  the  act  that  should 
bring  misfortune  and  joy.  In  the  deep  silence  before  the 
ceremony  began  the  priest  asked  for  the  name  of  the  bride. 

"  Marie-Nathalie,  daughter  of  Mile.  Blanche  de  Casteran, 
late  Abbess  of  Notre-Dame  de  Seez,  and  of  Victor-Amedee, 
Due  de  Verneuil." 

"Born?" 

"  At  la  Chasterie,  near  Alengon." 

**  I  should  not  have  thought  that  Montauran  would  have 
been  fool  enough  to  marry  her,"  the  Baron  whispered  to  the 
Count.     "  The  natural  daughter  of  a  duke  !     Out  upon  it !  " 

**  If  she  had  been  a  king's  daughter,  he  might  have  been 
excused,"  the  Comte  de  Bauvan  said,  with  a  smile,  but  I  am 


360  THE   CHOUANS. 

not  the  one  to  blame  him.  I  have  a  liking  for  the  other,  and 
I  mean  to  lay  siege  to  Charette's  Filly  now.  There  is  not 
much  coo  about  her  ! ' ' 

Montauran's  designations  had  been  previously  filled  in,  the 
lovers  set  their  names  to  the  document,  and  the  names  of  the 
witnesses  followed.  The  ceremony  began,  and  all  the  while 
no  one  but  Marie  heard  the  sound  of  arms  and  the  heavy 
even  tread  of  the  soldiers  coming  to  relieve  the  Blues,  who 
were,  doubtless,  on  guard  before  St.  Leonard's  church,  where 
she  herself  had  posted  them.  She  shuddered  and  raised  her 
eyes  to  the  crucifix  upon  the  altar. 

"  She  is  a  saint  I  "  murmured  Francine. 

"Give  me  saints  of  that  sort,  and  I  will  turn  deucedly 
devout,"  the  Count  said  to  himself,  in  a  low  voice. 

When  the  priest  put  the  usual  question  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil, 
her  answering  "Yes"  came  with  a  heavy  sigh.  She  leaned 
over,  and  said  in  her  husband's  ear,  "In  a  little  while  you 
will  know  why  I  break  the  vow  that  I  made  never  to  marry 
you." 

The  rite  was  over,  and  those  who  had  been  present  passed 
out  into  the  room  where  dinner  had  been  served,  when,  just  as 
the  guests  were  sitting  down,  Jeremiah  came  in  in  a  state  of 
great  terror.  The  unhappy  bride  rose  at  once  and  went  up  to 
him,  followed  by  Francine.  Then  making  one  of  the  excuses 
that  women  can  devise  so  readily,  she  begged  the  Marquis  to 
do  the  honors  of  the  feast  by  himself  for  a  few  moments; 
and  hurried  the  servant  away  before  he  could  commit  any 
blunder  that  might  prove  fatal. 

"Oh!  Francine,"  she  said,  "what  a  thing  it  is  to  feel 
oneself  at  the  brink  of  death,  and  to  be  unable  to  say,  *  I  am 
dying  ! '  " 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  did  not  return.  An  excuse  for  her 
absence  could  be  found  in  the  ceremony  that  had  just  been 
concluded.  When  the  meal  came  to  an  end,  and  the  Mar- 
quis* anxiety  had  risen  to  its  height,  Marie  came  back  in  all 


A   DAY  WITHOUT  A   MORROW,  361 

the  splendor  of  her  bridal  array.  She  looked  calm  and 
happy  ;  while  Francine,  who  had  returned  with  her,  bore  traces 
of  such  profound  terror  on  all  her  features,  that  those  assem- 
bled seemed  to  see  in  the  faces  of  the  two  women  some  such 
strange  picture  as  the  eccentric  brush  of  Salvator  Rosa  might 
have  painted,  representing  Death  and  Life  holding  each  other 
by  the  hand. 

"  Gentlemen,"  she  said,  addressing  the  priest,  the  Baron, 
and  the  Count,  "  you  must  be  my  guests  to-night.  Any 
attempt  to  leave  Fougeres  would  be  too  hazardous.  I  have 
given  orders  to  this  good  girl  here  to  conduct  each  of  you  to 
his  own  room.  No  resistance,  I  beg,"  she  said,  as  the  priest 
was  about  to  speak ;  "I  hope  that  you  will  not  refuse  to  obey 
a  bride  on  her  wedding-day." 

An  hour  later  she  was  alone  with  her  lover  in  the  bridal 
chamber  that  she  had  made  so  fair.  They  stood  at  last  beside 
the  fatal  couch  where  so  many  hopes  are  blighted  as  by  the 
tomb,  where  the  chances  of  an  awakening  to  a  happy  life  are 
so  uncertain,  where  love  dies  or  comes  into  being  according 
to  the  power  of  the  character  that  is  only  finally  tested  there. 
Marie  looked  at  the  clock,  and  said  to  herself,  *'  Six  hours  to 
live!" 

"  So  I  have  been  able  to  sleep !  "  she  exclaimed  when,  as 
morning  drew  near,  she  woke  with  the  shock  of  the  sudden 
start  that  disturbs  us  when  we  have  agreed  with  ourselves  on 
the  previous  evening  to  wake  at  a  certain  hour.  "  Yes,  I  have 
slept,"  she  repeated,  as  she  saw  by  the  candle-light  that  the 
hand  on  the  dial  of  the  clock  pointed  to  the  hour  of  two. 
She  turned  and  gazed  at  the  Marquis,  who  was  sleeping  with 
one  hand  beneath  his  head,  as  children  do,  while  the  other 
hand  grasped  that  of  his  wife.  He  was  half-smiling,  as 
though  he  had  fallen  asleep  in  the  midst  of  a  kiss.  **  Ah ! " 
she  murmured  to  herself,  "  he  is  slumbering  like  a  child  I 
But  how  could  he  feel  mistrust  of  me,  of  me  who  owes  him 
unspeakable  happiness?  " 


362  THE    CHOVANS. 

She  touched  him  gently,  he  awoke  and  smiled  in  earnest. 
He  kissed  the  hand  that  he  held,  and  gazed  at  the  unhappy 
woman  before  him  with  such  glowing  eyes,  that  she  could  not 
endure  the  passionate  light  in  them,  and  slowly  drooped  her 
heavy  eyelids  as  if  to  shut  out  a  spectacle  fraught  with  peril 
for  her.  But  while  she  thus  veiled  the  growing  warmth  of  her 
own  eyes,  she  so  provoked  the  desire  to  which  she  appeared  to 
refuse  herself,  that  if  she  had  not  had  a  profound  dread  to 
conceal,  her  husband  might  have  reproached  her  with  too 
much  coquetry.  They  both  raised  their  charming  heads  at 
the  same  moment,  with  a  sign  full  of  gratitude  for  the  pleas- 
ures that  they  had  experienced.  But  after  a  moment's  survey 
of  the  exquisite  picture  presented  by  his  wife's  face,  the 
Marquis,  thinking  that  Marie's  brow  was  overshadowed  by 
some  feeling  of  melancholy,  said  to  her  softly — 

"Why  that  shade  of  sadness,  love?" 

"Poor  Alphonse,  whither  do  you  think  I  have  brought 
you  !  "  she  asked,  trembling. 

"  To  happiness." 

"  Nay,  to  death." 

Quivering  with  horror,  she  sprang  out  of  bed,  followed  by 
the  astonished  Marquis.  His  wife  led  him  to  the  window,  A 
frenzied  gesture  escaped  Marie  as  she  drew  back  the  curtains 
and  pointed  to  a  score  of  soldiers  in  the  square.  The  fog  had 
dispersed,  and  the  white  moonlight  fell  on  their  uniforms  and 
muskets,  on  the  imperturbable  Corentin,  who  came  and  went 
like  a  jackal  on  the  lookout  for  his  prey,  and  on  the  com- 
mandant, who  stood  there  motionless  with  folded  arms,  with 
his  head  thrown  back,  and  his  mouth  pursed  up,  in  an  alert 
and  uneasy  attitude. 

"  Let  them  be,  Marie,  and  come  back." 

"Why  do  you  laugh,  Alphonse?  It  was  /  who  posted 
them  there ! 

"  You  are  dreaming." 

"Nay." 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  363 

For  a  moment  they  looked  at  each  other,  and  the  Marquis 
understood  it  all.  He  clasped  her  in  his  arms*  **  What  of 
that,"  he  said  ;   "I  love  you  forever." 

"  All  is  not  lost,  even  now  !  "  cried  Marie.  "  Alphonse !  " 
she  said,  after  a  pause,  "  there  is  yet  hope  !  " 

Just  then  they  distinctly  heard  the  stifled  cry  of  a  screech- 
owl,  and  Fiancine  suddenly  entered  from  the  dressing-room. 

"  Pierre  is  there  !  "  she  cried,  in  almost  frenzied  joy. 

The  Marquise  and  Francine  dressed  Montauran  in  a 
Chouan's  costume  with  the  marvelous  quickness  that  women 
alone  possess.  When  Marie  saw  that  lier  husband  was  busy 
loading  the  firearms  that  Francine  had  brought  for  him,  she 
quickly  slipped  away,  making  a  sign  to  her  faithful  Breton 
maid.  Francine  led  the  Marquis  into  the  adjoining  dressing- 
'room.  At  the  sight  of  a  number  of  sheets  securely  knotted 
together,  the  young  chief  could  appreciate  the  alert  activity 
with  which  the  Breton  girl  had  done  her  work,  as  she  sought 
to  disappoint  the  watchfulness  of  the  soldiers. 

"I  can  never  get  through,"  the  Marquis  said,  as  he  made 
a  survey  of  the  narrow  embrasure  of  the  round  window.  But 
the  circular  opening  was  just  then  blocked  up  by  a  great  dark 
countenance ;  and  the  hoarse  voice,  that  Francine  knew  so 
well,  cried  softly — 

"  Quick,  general !  Those  toads  of  Blues  are  on  the  move !  '* 

"  Oh  !  one  more  kiss,"  said  a  sweet  and  trembling  voice. 

Montauran's  feet  were  set  on  the  ladder  by  which  he  was  to 
escape,  but  he  had  not  yet  extricated  himself  from  the  win- 
dow, and  felt  himself  clasped  in  a  desperate  embrace.  He 
uttered  a  cry,  for  he  saw  that  his  wife  had  dressed  herself  in 
his  clothes,  and  tried  to  hold  her  fast,  but  she  tore  herself 
hastily  from  his  arms,  and  he  was  obliged  to  descend  the 
ladder.  In  his  hand  he  kept  a  scrap  of  some  woven  material, 
and  a  sudden  gleam  of  moonlight  showed  him  that  it  must  be 
a  strip  of  tlie  waistcoat  that  he  had  worn  on  the  previous 
evening. 


364  THE   CllOUANS. 

"  Halt !     Fire  by  platoons  !  " 

Hulot's  words  spoken  broke  the  deep  stillness  that  had 
something  hideous  about  it,  and  snapped  the  charm  that 
seemed  hitherto  to  have  prevailed  over  the  place  and  the  men 
in  it.  The  sound  of  a  salvo  of  balls  at  the  base  of  the 
tower  in  the  valley  bottom  followed  hard  upon  the  firing  of 
the  Blues  upon  the  promenade.  Volley  succeeded  volley 
without  interruption ;  the  Republicans  kept  up  their  fire, 
mercilessly ;  but  no  sound  was  uttered  by  the  victims — there 
was  a  horrible  silence  between  each  discharge. 

Corentin,  however,  shrewdly  suspected  some  trap,  for  he 
had  heard  one  of  the  men,  whom  he  had  just  pointed  out  to 
the  commandant,  drop  from  his  lofty  position  at  the  top  of 
the  ladder. 

**  Not  one  of  those  animals  makes  a  sound,"  he  remarked 
to  Hulot.  "  Our  pair  of  lovers  are  quite  capable  of  keeping 
us  amused  by  some  sort  of  trick,  while  they  themselves  are 
perhaps  escaping  in  another  direction." 

The  spy,  in  his  eagerness  to  obtain  light  on  this  mystery, 
sent  Galope-Chopine's  child  to  find  some  torches.  Hulot  had 
caught  the  drift  of  Corentin's  suspicions  so  aptly  that  the  old 
soldier,  who  was  preoccupied  with  the  sounds  of  an  obstinate 
encounter  that  was  taking  place  before  the  guard-house  in  St. 
Leonard's  gate,  exclaimed,  "  True,  there  cannot  be  two  of 
them,"  and  rushed  off  in  that  direction. 

"We  have  given  him  a  leaden  shower-bath,  commandant," 
so  Beau-Pied  greeted  his  commandant,  "but  he  has  killed 
Gudin,  and  wounded  two  more  men.  Ah !  the  madman. 
He  had  broken  through  three  lines  of  our  fellows,  and  would 
have  got  away  into  the  open  country,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  sentry  at  St.  Leonard's  gate,  who  spitted  him  on  his 
bayonet." 

The  commandant  hurried  into  the  guard-house  on  hearing 
this  piece  of  news,  and  saw  a  blood-stained  body  stretclied 
out  upon  the  camp-bed  where  it  had  just  been   laid.     He 


A   DAY   WITHOUT  A   MORROW.  865 

went  up  to  the  man  whom  he  believed  to  be  the  Marquis,  raised 
the  hat  that  covered  his  face,  and  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  cried  vehemently,  as  he  folded  his 
arms.     '^  Sacre  tonnerre  .'  she  had  kept  him  too  long.  " 

The  soldiers  stood  about  motionless.  The  commandant's 
movement  had  uncoiled  a  woman's  long  dark  hair. 

The  silence  was  suddenly  broken  by  the  sounds  of  a  crowd 
of  armed  men.  Corentin  came  into  the  guard-house,  followed 
by  four  men,  who  had  made  a  kind  of  stretcher  of  their  muskets, 
upon  which  they  were  carrying  Montauran,  whose  legs  and 
arms  had  been  broken  by  many  gunshots.  They  laid  the  Mar- 
quis on  the  camp-bed  beside  his  wife.  He  saw  her,  and  found 
strength  sufficient  to  take  her  hand  in  a  convulsive  clasp.  The 
dying  girl  turned  her  head  painfully,  recognized  her  husband, 
and  a  sudden  spasm  shook  her  that  was  terrible  to  see,  as  she 
murmured  in  a  nearly  inaudible  voice — 

"  A  day  without  a  morrow  !     God  has  heard  me  indeed  !  " 

"Commandant,"  said  the  Marquis,  summoning  all  his 
strength  to  speak,  while  he  still  held  Marie's  hand  in  his, 
"  I  depend  upon  your  loyalty  to  send  word  of  my  death  to  my 
young  brother  in  London.  Write  to  him,  and  tell  him  that 
if  he  would  fain  obey  my  last  wishes,  he  will  not  bear  arms 
against  France ;  but  he  will  never  forsake  the  service  of  the 
King." 

"It  shall  be  done,"  said  Hulot,  pressing  the  hand  of  the 
dying  man. 

"Take  them  to  the  hospital  nearby,"  cried  Corentin. 

Hulot  grasped  the  spy  by  the  arm  in  such  a  manner  that  he 
left  the  marks  of  his  nails  in  the  flesh  as  he  said  to  him — 

"Since  your  task  here  is  ended,  be  off!  And  take  a  good 
look  at  the  face  of  Commandant  Hulot,  so  that  you  may  never 
cross  his  path  again,  unless  you  have  a  mind  to  have  his  cut- 
lass through  your  body." 

The  old  soldier  drew  his  sabre  as  he  spoke. 

"  There  is  another  of  your  honest  folk  who  will  never  make 


366  THE   CHOUANS. 

their  fortunes,"  said  Corentin  to  himself,  when  he  was  well 
away  from  the  guard-house. 

The  Marquis  was  still  able  to  thank  his  enemy  by  a  move- 
ment of  the  head,  expressing  a  soldier's  esteem  for  a  generous 
foe. 

In  1827  an  old  man,  accompanied  by  his  wife,  was  bargain- 
ing for  cattle  in  the  market  of  Fougeres.  Nobody  took  any 
special  heed  of  him,  though  in  his  time  he  had  killed  more 
than  a  hundred  men.  No  one  even  reminded  him  of  his 
nickname  of  Marche-a-Terre.  The  person  to  whom  valuable 
information  concerning  the  actors  in  this  drama  is  owing  saw 
the  man  as  he  led  a  cow  away ;  there  was  that  look  of  homely 
simplicity  about  him  which  prompts  the  remark,  **That  is  a 
very  honest  fellow  !  " 

As  for  Cibot,  otherwise  called  Pille-Miche,  his  end  has  been 
witnessed  alread)4.  Perhaps  Marche-a-Terre  made  a  vain 
attempt  to  rescue  his  comrade  from  the  scaffold,  and  was 
present  in  the  market-place  of  Alen^on  at  the  terrific  riot 
that  occurred  during  the  famous  trials  of  Rifoel,  Bryond,  and 
La  Chanterie. 


THE  CONSCRIPT 

(Z '  Requisitionaire) . 

\The  inner  self '\  .  .  .  by  a  phenomenon  of  vision 
or  of  locomotion  has  been  known  at  times  to  abolish 
Space  in  its  two  modes  of  Time  and  Distance — 
the  one  intellectual,  the  other  physical. 

— History  of  Louis  Lambert. 

On  a  November  evening  in  the  year  1793  the  principal 
citizens  of  Carentan  were  assembled  in  Mme.  de  Dey's  draw- 
ing-room. Mme.  de  Dey  held  this  reception  every  night  of 
the  week,  but  an  unwonted  interest  attached  to  this  even- 
i^^g's  gathering,  owing  to  certain  circumstances  which  would 
have  passed  altogether  unnoticed  in  a  great  city,  though  in  a 
small  country  town  they  excited  the  greatest  curiosity.  For 
two  days  before  Mme.  de  Dey  had  not  been  at  home  to  her 
visitors,  and  on  the  previous  evening  her  door  had  been  shut, 
on  the  ground  of  indisposition.  Two  such  events  at  any  ordi- 
nary time  would  have  produced  in  Carentan  the  same  sensa- 
tion that  Paris  knows  on  nights  when  there  is  no  performance 
at  the  theatres — existence  is  in  some  way  incomplete;  but  in 
those  times  when  the  least  indiscretion  on  the  part  of  an  aris- 
tocrat might  be  a  matter  of  life  and  death,  this  conduct  of 
Mme.  de  Dey's  was  likely  to  bring  about  the  most  disastrous 
consequences  for  her.  Her  position  in  Carentan  ought  to  be 
made  clear,  if  the  reader  is  to  appreciate  the  expression  of 
keen  curiosity  and  cunning  fanaticism  on  the  countenances 
of  these  Norman  citizens,  and,  what  is  of  most  importance. 

(367) 


368  THE   CONSCRIPT. 

the  part  that  the  lady  played  among  them.  Many  a  one  dur- 
ing the  days  of  the  Revolution  had  doubtless  passed  through 
a  crisis  as  difficult  as  hers  at  that  moment,  and  the  sympathies 
of  more  than  one  reader  will  fill  in  all  the  coloring  of  the 
picture. 

Mme.  de  Dey  was  the  widow  of  a  lieutenant-general,  a 
knight  of  the  Orders  of  Saint  Michael  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
She  had  left  the  Court  when  the  emigration  began,  and  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  neighborhood  of  Carentan,  where  she  had 
large  estates,  hoping  that  the  influence  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 
would  be  but  little  felt  there.  Her  calculations,  based  on  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  the  district,  proved  correct.  The 
Revolution  made  little  disturbance  in  Lower  Normandy.  For- 
merly, when  Mme.  de  Dey  had  spent  any  time  in  the  country, 
her  circle  of  acquaintance  had  been  confined  to  the  noble 
families  of  the  district;  but  now,  from  politic  motives,  she 
opened  her  house  to  the  principal  citizens  and  to  the  Revolu- 
tionary authorities  of  the  town,  endeavoring  to  touch  and 
gratify  their  social  pride  without  arousing  either  hatred  or 
jealousy.  Gracious  and  kindly,  possessed  of  the  indescribable 
charm  that  wins  good-will  without  loss  of  dignity  or  effort  to 
pay  court  to  any,  she  had  succeeded  in  gaining  universal 
esteem  ;  the  discreet  warnings  of  exquisite  tact  enabled  her 
to  steer  a  difficult  course  among  the  exacting  claims  of  this 
mixed  society,  without  wounding  the  overweening  self-love 
of  parvenues  on  the  one  hand,  or  the  susceptibilities  of  her 
old  friends  on  the  other.  In  a  word,  Mme.  de  Dey  com- 
manded the  respect  of  all  circles  of  society. 

She  was  about  thirty-eight  years  of  age,  and  still  preserved, 
not  the  fresh,  high-colored  beauty  of  the  Basse-Normandes, 
but  a  fragile  loveliness  of  what  may  be  called  an  aristocratic 
type.  Her  figure  was  lissome  and  slender,  her  features  deli- 
cate and  clearly  cut ;  the  pale  face  seemed  to  light  up  and  live 
when  she  spoke  ;  but  there  was  a  quiet  and  devout  look  in 
the  great  dark  eyes,  for  all  their  graciousness  of  expression — 


THE   CONSCRIPT.  369 

a  look  that  seemed  to  say  that  the  springs  of  her  life  lay 
without  her  own  existence. 

In  her  early  girlhood  she  had  been  married  to  an  elderly 
and  jealous  soldier.  Her  false  position  in  the  midst  of  a  gay 
Court  had  doubtless  done  something  to  bring  a  veil  of  sad- 
ness over  a  face  that  must  once  have  been  bright  with  the 
charms  of  quick-pulsed  life  and  love.  She  had  been  com- 
pelled to  set  constant  restraint  upon  her  frank  impulses  and 
emotions  at  an  age  when  a  woman  feels  rather  than  thinks, 
and  the  depths  of  passion  in  her  heart  had  never  been  stirred. 
In  this  lay  the  secret  of  her  greatest  charm,  a  youthfulness  of 
the  inmost  soul,  betrayed  at  times  by  her  face,  and  a  certain 
tinge  of  innocent  wistfulness  in  her  ideas.  She  was  reserved 
in  her  demeanor,  but  in  her  bearing  and  in  the  tones  of  her 
voice  there  was  still  something  that  told  of  girlish  longings 
directed  toward  a  vague  future.  Before  very  long  the  least  sus- 
ceptible fell  in  love  with  her,  and  yet  stood  somewhat  in  awe 
of  her  dignity  and  high-bred  manner.  Her  great  soul, 
strengthened  by  the  cruel  ordeals  through  which  she  had 
passed,  seemed  to  set  her  too  far  above  the  ordinary  level, 
and  these  men  weighed  themselves,  and  instinctively  felt  that 
they  were  found  wanting.  Such  a  nature  demanded  an 
exalted  passion. 

Moreover,  Mme.  de  Dey's  affections  were  concentrated  in 
one  sentiment — a  mother's  love  for  her  son.  All  the  happi- 
ness and  joy  that  she  had  not  known  as  a  wife,  she  had  found 
later  in  her  boundless  love  for  him.  The  coquetry  of  a  mis- 
tress, the  jealousy  of  a  wife  mingled  with  the  pure  and  deep 
affection  of  a  mother.  She  was  miserable  when  they  were 
apart,  and  nervous  about  him  while  he  was  away  ;  she  could 
never  see  enough  of  him,  and  lived  through  and  for  him 
alone. 

Some  idea   of  the   strength  of  this  tie  may  be  conveyed 
to  the  masculine  understanding  by  stating  that  this  was  not 
only  Mme.  de  Dey's  only  son,  but  all  she  had  of  kith  or  kin 
24 


370  THE   CONSCRIPT. 

in  the  world,  the  one  human  being  on  earth  bound  to  her  by 
all  the  fears  and  hopes  and  joys  of  her  life. 

The  late  Comte  de  Dey  was  the  last  of  his  race,  and  she, 
his  wife,  was  the  sole  heiress  and  descendant  of  her  house. 
So  worldly  ambitions  and  family  considerations,  as  well  as  the 
noblest  cravings  of  the  soul,  combined  to  heighten  in  the 
Countess  a  sentiment  that  is  strong  in  every  woman's  heart. 
The  child  was  all  the  dearer,  because  only  with  infinite  care 
had  she  succeeded  in  rearing  him  to  man's  estate ;  medical 
science  had  predicted  his  death  a  score  of  times,  but  she  had 
held  fast  to  her  presentiments  and  her  hopes,  and  had  known 
the  inexpressible  joy  of  watching  him  pass  safely  through  the 
perils  of  infancy,  of  seeing  his  constitution  strengthen  in 
spite  of  the  decrees  of  the  Faculty. 

Thanks  to  her  constant  care,  the  boy  had  grown  up  and  de- 
veloped so  favorably,  that  at  twenty  years  of  age  he  was  re- 
garded  as  one  of  the  most  accomplished  gentlemen  at  the 
Court  of  Versailles.  One  final  happiness  that  does  not  always 
crown  a  mother's  efforts  was  hers — her  son  worshipped  her ; 
and  between  these  two  there  was  the  deep  sympathy  of  kindred 
souls.  If  they  had  not  been  bound  to  each  other  already  by 
a  natural  and  sacred  tie,  they  would  instinctively  have  felt  for 
each  other  a  friendship  that  is  rarely  met  with  between  two 
men. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen,  the  young  Count  had  received  an 
appointment  as  sub-lieutenant  in  a  regiment  of  dragoons,  and 
had  made  it  a  point  of  honor  to  follow  the  emigrant  Princes 
into  exile. 

Then  Mme.  de  Dey  faced  the  dangers  of  her  cruel  position. 
She  was  rich,  noble,  and  the  mother  of  an  emigrant.  With 
the  one  desire  to  look  after  her  son's  great  fortune,  she  had 
denied  herself  the  happiness  of  being  with  him ;  and  when 
she  read  the  rigorous  laws  in  virtue  of  which  the  Republic 
was  daily  confiscating  the  property  of  emigrants  at  Carentan, 
she  congratulated  herself  on  the  courageous  course  that  she 


THE   CONSCRIPT.  7Sl\ 

had  taken.  Was  she  not  keeping  watch  over  the  wealth  of 
her  son  at  the  risk  of  her  life  ?  Later,  when  news  came  of 
the  horrible  executions  ordered  by  the  Convention,  she  slept, 
happy  in  the  knowledge  that  her  own  treasure  was  in  safety, 
out  of  reach  of  peril,  far  from  the  scaffolds  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. She  loved  to  think  that  she  had  followed  the  best 
course,  that  she  had  saved  her  darling  and  her  darling's  for- 
tunes ;  and  to  this  secret  thought  she  made  such  concessions 
as  the  misfortunes  of  the  times  demanded,  without  compromis- 
ing her  dignity  or  her  aristocratic  tenets,  and  enveloped  her 
sorrows  in  reserve  and  mystery.  She  had  foreseen  the  difficul- 
ties that  would  beset  her  at  Carentan.  Did  she  not  tempt  the 
scaffold  by  the  very  fact  of  going  thither  to  take  a  prominent 
place  ?  Yet,  sustained  by  a  mother's  courage,  she  succeeded 
in  winning  the  affection  of  the  poor,  ministering  without  dis- 
tinction to  every  one  in  trouble  ;  and  made  herself  necessary 
to  the  well-to-do,  by  providing  amusements  for  them. 

The  procureur  of  the  commune  might  be  seen  at  her  house, 
the  mayor,  the  president  of  the  district,  and  the  public 
prosecutor,  and  even  the  judges  of  the  Revolutionary  tribu- 
nals went  there.  The  four  first-named  gentlemen  were  none 
of  them  married,  and  each  paid  court  to  her,  in  the  hope  that 
Mme.  de  Dey  would  take  him  for  her  husband,  either  from 
fear  of  making  an  enemy  or  from  a  desire  to  find  a  protector. 

The  public  prosecutor,  once  an  attorney  at  Caen,  and  the 
Countess'  man  of  business,  did  what  he  could  to  inspire  love 
by  a  system  of  devotion  and  generosity,  a  dangerous  game  of 
cunning  !  He  was  the  most  formidable  of  all  her  suitors. 
He  alone  knew  the  amount  of  the  large  fortune  of  his  some- 
time client,  and  his  fervor  was  inevitably  increased  by  the 
cupidity  of  greed,  and  by  the  consciousness  that  he  wielded 
an  enormous  power,  the  power  of  life  and  death  in  the  dis- 
trict. He  was  still  a  young  man,  and,  owing  to  the  generosity 
of  his  behavior,  Mme.  de  Dey  was  unable  as  yet  to  estimate 
him  truly.     But,  in  despite  of  the  danger  of  matching  her- 


372  THE   CONSCRIPT. 

self  against  Norman  cunning,  she  used  all  the  craft  and 
inventiveness  that  nature  has  bestowed  on  women  to  play  off 
the  rival  suitors  one  against  another.  She  hoped,  by  gaining 
time,  to  emerge  safe  and  sound  from  her  difficulties  at  last; 
for  at  that  time  Royalists  in  the  provinces  flattered  themselves 
with  a  hope,  daily  renewed,  that  the  morrow  would  see  the 
end  of  the  Revolution — a  conviction  that  proved  fatal  to 
many  of  them. 

In  spite  of  difficulties,  the  Countess  had  maintained  her 
independence  with  considerable  skill  until  the  day,  when,  by 
an  inexplicable  want  of  prudence,  she  took  occasion  to  close 
her  salon.  So  deep  and  sincere  was  the  interest  that  she 
inspired,  that  those  who  usually  filled  her  drawing-room  felt 
a  lively  anxiety  when  the  news  was  spread  ;  then,  with  the 
frank  curiosity  characteristic  of  provincial  manners,  they  went 
to  inquire  into  the  misfortune,  grief,  or  illness  that  had  befallen 
Mme.  de  Dey. 

To  all  these  questions,  Brigitte,  the  housekeeper,  answered 
with  the  same  formula:  her  mistress  was  keeping  her  room, 
and  would  see  no  one,  not  even  her  own  servants.  The 
almost  claustral  lives  of  dwellers  in  small  towns  fosters  a 
habit  of  analysis  and  conjectural  explanation  of  the  business 
of  everybody  else ;  so  strong  is  it,  that  when  every  one  had 
exclaimed  over  poor  Mme.  de  Dey  (without  knowing  whether 
the  lady  was  overcome  by  joy  or  sorrow),  each  one  began  to 
inquire  into  the  causes  of  her  sudden  seclusion. 

"  If  she  were  ill,  she  would  have  sent  for  the  doctor,"  said 
gossip  number  one  ;  now  the  doctor  has  been  playing  chess  in 
my  house  all  day.  He  said  to  me,  laughing,  that  in  these 
days  there  is  only  one  disease,  and  that,  unluckily,  it  is  incur- 
able." 

The  joke  was  hazarded  discreetly.  Women  and  men, 
elderly  folk  and  young  girls  forthwith  betook  themselves  to 
the  vast  fields  of  conjecture.  Every  one  imagined  that  there 
was  some  secret  in  it,  and  every  head  was  busy  with  the  secret. 


THE   CONSCRIPT.  373 

Next  day  the  suspicions  became  malignant.  Every  one  lives 
in  public  in  a  small  town,  and  the  womenkind  were  the  first 
to  find  out  that  Brigitte  had  laid  in  an  extra  stock  of  provi- 
sions. The  thing  could  not  be  disputed.  Brigitte  had  been 
seen  in  the  market-place  betimes  that  morning,  and,  wonder- 
ful to  relate,  she  had  bought  the  one  hare  to  be  had.  The 
whole  town  knew  that  Mme.  de  Dey  did  not  care  for  game. 
The  hare  became  a  starting-point  for  endless  conjectures. 

Elderly  gentlemen,  taking  their  constitutional,  noticed  a 
sort  of  suppressed  bustle  in  the  Countess'  house;  the  symptoms 
were  the  more  apparent  because  the  servants  were  at  evident 
pains  to  conceal  them.  The  manservant  was  beating  a  carpet 
in  the  garden.  Only  yesterday  no  one  would  have  remarked 
the  fact,  but  to-day  everybody  began  to  build  romances  upon 
that  harmless  piece  of  household  stuff.  Every  one  had  a 
version. 

On  the  following  day,  that  on  which  Mme.  de  Dey  gave 
out  that  she  was  not  well,  the  magnates  of  Carentan  went  to 
spend  the  evening  at  the  mayor's  brother's  house.  He  was  a 
retired  merchant,  a  married  man,  a  strictly  honorable  soul ; 
every  one  respected  him,  and  the  Countess  held  him  in 
high  esteem.  There  all  the  rich  widow's  suitors  were  fain  to 
invent  more  or  less  probable  fictions,  each  one  thinking  the 
while  how  to  turn  to  his  own  advantage  the  secret  that  com- 
pelled her  to  compromise  herself  in  such  a  manner. 

The  public  prosecutor  spun  out  a  whole  drama  to  bring 
Mme.  de  Dey's  son  to  her  house  of  a  night.  The  mayor  had 
a  belief  in  a  priest  who  had  refused  the  oath,  a  refugee  from 
La  Vendee;  but  this  left  him  not  a  little  embarrassed  how 
to  account  for  the  purchase  of  a  hare  on  a  Friday.  The 
president  of  the  district  had  strong  leaning  towards  a  Chouan 
chief,  or  a  Vendean  leader  hotly  pursued.  Others  voted  for 
a  noble  escaped  from  the  prisons  of  Paris.  In  short,  one  and 
all  suspected  that  the  Countess  had  been  guilty  of  some  piece 
of  generosity  that  the  law  of  those  days  defined  as  a  crime. 


874  THE   CONSCRIPT. 

an  oifence  that  was  likely  to  bring  her  to  the  scaffold.  Tlie 
public  prosecutor,  moreover,  said,  in  a  low  voice,  that  they 
must  hush  the  matter  up,  and  try  to  save  the  unfortunate  lady 
from  the  abyss  towards  which  she  was  hastening. 

'*  If  you  spread  reports  about,"  he  added,  "  I"  shall  be 
obliged  to  take  cognizance  of  the  matter,  and  to  search  the 
house,  and  then " 

He  said  no  more,  but  every  one  understood  what  was  left 
unsaid. 

The  Countess'  real  friends  were  so  much  alarmed  for  her, 
that  on  the  morning  of  the  third  day  the  Procureur  Syndic  of 
the  commune  made  his  wife  write  a  few  lines  to  persuade 
Mme.  de  Dey  to  hold  her  reception  as  usual  that  evening. 
The  old  merchant  took  a  bolder  step.  He  called  that  morn- 
ing upon  the  lady.  Strong  in  the  thought  of  the  service  he 
meant  to  do  her,  he  insisted  that  he  must  see  Mme.  de  Dey, 
and  was  amazed  beyond  expression  to  find  her  out  in  the 
garden,  busy  gathering  the  last  autumn  flowers  in  her  borders 
to  fill  the  vases. 

"She  has  given  refuge  to  her  lover,  no  doubt,"  thought 
the  old  man,  struck  with  pity  for  the  charming  woman  before 
him. 

The  Countess'  face  wore  a  strange  look,  that  confirmed  his 
suspicions.  Deeply  moved  by  the  devotion  so  natural  to 
women,  but  that  always  touches  us,  because  all  men  are  flat- 
tered by  the  sacrifices  that  any  woman  makes  for  any  one  of 
them,  the  merchant  told  the  Countess  of  the  gossip  that  was 
circulating  in  the  town,  and  showed  her  the  danger  that  she 
was  running.  He  wound  up  at  last  with  saying  that  "  if  there 
are  some  of  our  public  functionaries  who  are  sufficiently  ready 
to  pardon  a  piece  of  heroism  on  your  part  so  long  as  it  is  a 
priest  that  you  wish  to  save,  no  one  will  show  you  any  mercy 
if  it  is  discovered  that  you  are  sacrificing  yourself  to  the 
dictates  of  your  heart." 

At  these  words  Mme.  de  Dey  gazed  at  her  visitor  with  a 


THE   CONSCRIPT.  375 

wild  excitement  in  her  manner  that  made  him  tremble,  old 
though  he  was. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said,  taking  him  by  the  hand  to  bring  him 
to  her  room,  and  as  soon  as  she  had  assured  herself  that  they 
were  alone,  she  drew  a  soiled,  torn  letter  from  her  bodice. 
"  Read  it !  "  she  cried,  with  a  violent  effort  to  pronounce  the 
words. 

She  dropped  as  if  exhausted  into  her  armchair.  While  the 
old  merchant  looked  for  his  spectacles  and  wiped  them,  she 
raised  her  eyes,  and  for  the  first  time  looked  at  him  with 
curiosity;  then,  in  an  uncertain  voice,  "  I  trust  in  you,"  she 
said  softly. 

"  Why  did  I  come  but  to  share  in  your  crime  ?  "  the  old 
merchant  said  simply. 

She  trembled.  For  the  first  time  since  she  had  come  to 
the  little  town  her  soul  found  sympathy  in  another  soul.  A 
sudden  light  dawned  meantime  on  the  old  merchant ;  he 
understood  the  Countess'  joy  and  her  prostration. 

Her  son  had  taken  part  in  the  Granville  expedition  ;  he 
wrote  to  his  mother  from  his  prison,  and  the  letter  brought 
her  a  sad,  sweet  hope.  Feeling  no  doubts  as  to  his  means  of 
escape,  he  wrote  that  within  three  days  he  was  sure  to  reach 
her,  disguised.  The  same  letter  that  brought  these  weighty 
tidings  was  full  of  heartrending  farewells  in  case  the  writer 
should  not  be  in  Carentan  by  the  evening  of  the  third  day, 
and  he  implored  his  mother  to  send  a  considerable  sum  of 
money  by  the  bearer,  who  had  gone  through  dangers  innu- 
merable to  deliver  it.  The  paper  shook  in  the  old  man's 
hands. 

"  And  to-day  is  the  third  day  !  "  cried  Mme.  de  Dey.  She 
sprang  to  her  feet,  took  back  the  letter,  and  walked  up  and 
down. 

"  You  have  set  to  work  imprudently,"  the  merchant  re- 
marked, addressing  her.  "Why  did  you  buy  provisions?" 
he  asked  her. 


376  THE   CONSCRIPT. 

"  Why,  he  may  come  in  dying  of  hunger,  worn  out  with 
fatigue,  and "     She  broke  off. 

"I  am  sure  of  my  brother,"  tlie  old  merchant  went  on; 
"  I  will  engage  him  in  your  interests." 

The  merchant  in  this  crisis  recovered  his  old  business 
shrewdness,  and  the  advice  that  he  gave  Mme.  de  Dey  was 
full  of  prudence  and  wisdom.  After  the  two  had  agreed 
together  as  to  what  they  were  to  do  and  say,  the  old  merchant 
went  on  various  ingenious  pretexts  to  pay  visits  to  the  prin- 
cipal houses  of  Carentan,  announcing  wherever  he  went  that 
he  had  just  been  to  see  Mme.  de  Dey,  and  that,  in  spite  of 
her  indisposition,  she  would  receive  that  evening.  Matching 
his  shrewdness  against  Norman  wits  in  the  cross-examination 
he  underwent  in  every  family  as  to  the  Countess'  complaint, 
he  succeeded  in  putting  almost  every  one  who  took  an  inter- 
est in  the  mysterious  affair  upon  the  wrong  scent. 

His  very  first  call  worked  wonders.  He  told,  in  the  hear- 
ing of  a  gouty  old  lady,  how  that  Mme.  de  Dey  had  all  but 
died  of  an  attack  of  gout  in  the  stomach  ;  how  that  the  illus- 
trious Tronchin  had  recommended  her  in  such  a  case  to  put 
the  skin  from  a  live  hare  on  her  chest,  to  stop  in  bed,  and 
keep  perfectly  still.  The  Countess,  he  said,  had  lain  in 
danger  of  her  life  for  the  past  t  wo  days ;  but  after  carefully 
following  out  Tronchin's  singular  prescription,  she  was  now 
sufficiently  recovered  to  receive  visitors  that  evening. 

This  tale  had  an  immense  success  in  Carentan.  The  local 
doctor,  a  Royalist  in  petto,  added  to  its  effect  by  gravely  dis- 
cussing the  specific.  Suspicion,  nevertheless,  had  taken  too 
deep  root  in  a  few  perverse  or  philosophical  minds  to  be 
entirely  dissipated  ;  so  it  fell  out  that  those  who  had  the  right 
of  entry  into  Mme.  de  Dey's  drawing-room  hurried  thither  at 
an  early  hour,  some  to  watch  her  face,  some  out  of  friend- 
ship, but  the  greater  part  attracted  by  the  fame  of  the  mar- 
velous cure. 

They  found  the  Countess  seated  in  a  corner  of  the  great 


THE  CONSCRIPT.  377 

chimney-piece  in  her  room,  which  was  almost  as  modestly  fur- 
nished as  similar  apartments  in  Carentan;  for  she  had  given 
up  the  enjoyment  of  luxuries  to  which  she  had  formerly  been 
accustomed,  for  fear  of  offending  the  narrow  prejudices  of  her 
guests,  and  she  had  made  no  changes  in  her  house.  The  floor 
was  not  even  polished.  She  had  left  the  old  sombre  hangings 
on  the  walls,  had  kept  the  old-fashioned  country  furniture, 
burned  tallow  candles,  had  fallen  in  with  the  ways  of  the 
place  and  adopted  provincial  life  without  flinching  before  its 
cast-iron  narrowness,  its  most  disagreeable  hardships ;  but 
knowing  that  her  guests  would  forgive  her  for  any  prodi- 
gality that  conduced  to  their  comfort,  she  left  nothing  undone 
where  their  personal  enjoyment  was  concerned ;  her  dinners, 
for  instance,  were  excellent.  She  even  went  so  far  as  to  affect 
avarice  to  recommend  herself  to  these  sordid  natures ;  and 
had  the  ingenuity  to  make  it  appear  that  certain  concessions 
to  luxury  had  been  made  at  the  instance  of  others,  to  whom 
she  had  graciously  yielded. 

Towards  seven  o'clock  that  evening,  therefore,  the  nearest 
approach  to  polite  society  that  Carentan  could  boast  was 
assembled  in  Mme.  de  Dey's  drawing-room,  in  a  wide  circle, 
about  the  fire.  The  old  merchant's  sympathetic  glances  sus- 
tained the  mistress  of  the  house  through  this  ordeal ;  with 
wonderful  strength  of  mind,  she  underwent  the  curious 
scrutiny  of  her  guests,  and  bore  with  their  trivial  prosings. 
Every  time  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  at  every  sound  of 
footsteps  in  the  street,  she  hid  her  agitation  by  raising  ques- 
tions of  absorbing  interest  to  the  countryside.  She  led  the 
conversation  on  to  the  burning  topic  of  the  quality  of  various 
ciders,  and  was  so  well  seconded  by  her  friend  who  shared  her 
secret,  that  her  guests  almost  forgot  to  watch  her,  and  her 
face  wore  its  wonted  look;  her  self-possession  was  unshaken. 
The  public  prosecutor  and  one  of  the  judges  of  the  Revolu- 
tionary Tribunal  kept  silence,  however ;  noting  the  slightest 
change  that  flickered  over  her  features,  listening  through  the 


878  THE   CONSCRIPT. 

noisy  talk  to  every  sound  in  the  house.  Several  times  they 
put  awkward  questions,  which  the  Countess  answered  with 
wonderful  presence  of  mind.     So  brave  is  a  mother's  heart ! 

Mme.  de  Dey  had  drawn  her  visitors  into  little  groups,  had 
made  parties  of  whist,  boston,  or  reversis,  and  sat  talking 
with  some  of  the  young  people;  she  seemed  to  be  living  com- 
pletely in  the  present  moment,  and  played  her  part  like  a 
consummate  actress.  She  elicited  a  suggestion  of  loto,  and 
saying  that  no  one  else  knew  where  to  find  the  game,  she  left 
the  room. 

*' My  good  Brigitte,  I  cannot  breathe  down  there  !"  she 
cried,  brushing  away  the  tears  that  sprang  to  her  eyes  that 
glittered  with  fever,  sorrow,  and  impatience.  She  had  gone 
up  to  her  son's  room,  and  was  looking  round  it.  "  He  does 
not  come,"  she  said.  *•  Here  I  can  breathe  and  live.  A  few 
minutes  more,  and  he  will  be  here,  for  he  is  alive,  I  am  sure 
that  he  is  alive  !  My  heart  tells  me  so.  Do  you  hear  noth- 
ing, Brigitte?  Oh  !  I  would  give  the  rest  of  my  life  to  know 
whether  he  is  still  in  prison  or  tramping  across  the  country. 
I  would  rather  not  think." 

Once  more  she  looked  to  see  that  everything  was  in  order. 
A  bright  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth,  the  shutters  were  care- 
fully closed,  the  furniture  shone  with  cleanliness,  the  bed  had 
been  made  after  a  fashion  that  showed  that  Brigitte  and  the 
Countess  had  given  their  minds  to  every  trifling  detail.  It 
was  impossible  not  to  read  her  hopes  in  the  dainty  and 
thoughtful  preparations  about  the  room  ;  love  and  a  mother's 
tenderest  caresses  seemed  to  pervade  the  air  in  the  scent  of 
flowers.  None  but  a  mother  could  have  foreseen  the  require- 
ments of  a  soldier  and  arranged  so  completely  for  their 
satisfaction.  A  dainty  meal,  the  best  of  wine,  clean  linen, 
slippers — no  requisite,  no  comfort,  was  lacking  for  the  weary 
traveler,  and  all  the  delights  of  home  heaped  upon  him  should 
reveal  his  mother's  love. 

"Oh,    Brigitte!- "   cried  the  Countess,  with  a  heart- 


THE   CONSCRIPT.  379 

rending  inflexion  in  her  voice.  She  drew  a  chair  to  the  table 
as  if  to  strengthen  her  illusions  and  realize  her  longings. 

"Ah!  madame,   he  is  coming.     He  is  not  far  off. 1 

haven't  a  doubt  that  he  is  living  and  on  his  way,"  Brigitte 
answered.  "I  put  a  key  in  the  Bible  and  held  it  on  my 
fingers  while  Cottin  read  the  Gospel  of  St.  John,  and  the 
key  did  not  turn,  madame." 

"  Is  that  a  certain  sign  ?  "  the  Countess  asked. 

"Why,  yes,  madame  !  everybody  knows  that.  He  is  still 
alive  ;  I  would  stake  my  salvation  on  it ;  God  cannot  be  mis- 
taken." 

"If  only  I  could  see  him  here  in  the  house,  in  spite  of 
the  danger." 

"  Poor  Monsieur  Auguste  !  "  cried  Brigitte  ;  "  I  expect  he 
is  tramping  along  the  lanes  !  " 

"And  that  is  eight  o'clock  striking  now!"  cried  the 
Countess  in  terror. 

She  was  afraid  that  she  had  been  too  long  in  the  room 
where  she  felt  sure  that  her  son  was  alive ;  all  those  prepara- 
tions made  for  him  meant  that  he  was  alive.  She  went  down, 
but  she  lingered  a  moment  in  the  peristyle  for  any  sound  that 
might  waken  the  sleeping  echoes  of  the  town.  She  smiled 
at  Brigitte's  husband,  who  was  standing  there  on  guard;  the 
man's  eyes  looked  stupid  with  the  strain  of  listening  to  the 
faint  sounds  of  the  night.  She  stared  into  the  darkness, 
seeing  her  son  in  every  shadow  everywhere  ;  but  it  was  only 
for  a  moment.  Then  she  went  back  to  the  drawing-room 
with  an  assumption  of  high  spirits,  and  began  to  play  at  loto 
with  the  little  girls.  But  from  time  to  time  she  complained 
of  feeling  unwell,  and  went  to  sit  in  her  great  chair  by  the 
fireside.  So  things  went  on  in  Mme.  de  Dey's  house  and  in 
the  minds  of  tliose  beneath  her  roof. 

Meanwhile,  on  the  road  from  Paris  to  Cherbourg,  a  young 
man,  dressed  in  the  inevitable  brown  carmagnole  of  those 
days,   was  plodding  his  way  towards  Carentan.     When  the 


380  THE    CONSCRIPT. 

first  levies  were  made,  there  was  little  or  no  discipline  kept 
up.  The  exigencies  of  the  moment  scarcely  admitted  of 
soldiers  being  equipped  at  once,  and  it  was  no  uncommon 
thing  to  see  the  roads  thronged  with  conscripts  in  their 
ordinary  clothes.  The  young  fellows  went  ahead  of  their 
company  to  the  next  halting-place,  or  lagged  behind  it ;  it 
depended  upon  their  fitness  to  bear  the  fatigues  of  a  long 
march.  This  particular  wayfarer  was  some  considerable  dis- 
tance in  advance  of  a  company  of  conscripts  on  their  way  to 
Cherbourg,  whom  the  mayor  was  expecting  to  arrive  every 
hour,  for  it  was  his  duty  to  distribute  their  billets.  The 
young  man's  footsteps  were  still  firm  as  he  trudged  along,  and 
his  bearing  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  was  no  stranger  to 
the  rough  life  of  a  soldier.  The  moon  shone  on  the  pasture- 
land  about  Carentan,  but  he  had  noticed  great  masses  of  white 
clouds  that  were  about  to  scatter  showers  of  snow  over  the 
country,  and  doubtless  the  fear  of  being  overtaken  by  a  storm 
had  quickened  his  pace  in  spite  of  his  weariness. 

The  wallet  on  his  back  was  almost  empty,  and  he  carried  a 
stick  in  his  hand,  cut  from  one  of  the  high,  thick  box-hedges 
that  surround  most  of  the  farms  in  Lower  Normandy.  As 
the  solitary  wayfarer  came  into  Carentan,  the  gleaming 
moonlit  outlines  of  its  towers  stood  out  for  a  moment  with 
ghostly  effect  against  the  sky.  He  met  no  one  in  the  silent 
streets  that  rang  with  the  echoes  of  his  own  footsteps,  and 
was  obliged  to  ask  the  way  to  the  mayor's  house  of  a  weaver 
who  was  working  late.  The  magistrate  was  not  far  to  seek, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  conscript  was  sitting  on  a  stone 
bench  on  the  mayor's  porch  waiting  for  his  billet.  He  was 
sent  for,  however,  and  confronted  with  that  functionary,  who 
scrutinized  him  closely.  The  foot-soldier  was  a  good-looking 
young  man,  who  appeared  to  be  of  gentle  birth.  There  was 
something  aristocratic  in  his  bearing  and  signs  in  his  face  of 
intelligence  developed  by  a  good  education.  These  apparent 
traits  gave  rise  to  suspicion. 


THE   CONSCRIPT.  381 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  the  mayor,  eyeing  him 
shrewdly. 

"  Julien  Jussieu,"  answered  the  conscript. 

"From? "   queried   the   official,   and   an   incredulous 

smile  stole  over  his  features. 

"  From  Paris." 

"  Your  comrades  must  be  a  good  way  behind?  "  remarked 
the  Norman  in  sarcastic  tones. 

"  I  am  three  leagues  ahead  of  the  battalion." 

"  Some  sentiment  attracts  you  to  Carentan,  of  course, 
citizen  conscript,"  said  the  mayor  astutely.  "All  right,  all 
right  !  "  he  added,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  seeing  that  the 
young  man  was  about  to  speak.  "  We  know  where  to  send 
you.  There,  off  with  you.  Citizen  Jussieu,''  and  he  handed 
over  the  billet. 

There  was  a  tinge  of  irony  in  the  stress  the  magistrate  laid 
on  the  two  last  words  while  he  held  out  a  billet  on  Mme.  de 
Dey.     The  conscript  read  the  direction  curiously. 

"  He  knows  quite  well  that  he  has  not  far  to  go,  and  when 
he  gets  outside  he  will  very  soon  cross  the  market-place,"  said 
the  mayor  to  himself,  as  the  other  went  out.  "  He  is  uncom- 
monly bold  !     God  guide  him  ! He  has  an  answer  ready 

for  everything.  Yes,  but  if  somebody  else  had  asked  to  see  his 
papers  it  would  have  been  all  up  with  him  !  " 

The  clocks  in  Carentan  struck  half-past  nine  as  he  spoke. 
Lanterns  were  being  lit  in  Mme.  de  Dey's  ante-chamber,  ser- 
vants were  helping  their  masters  and  mistresses  into  sabots, 
greatcoats,  and  calashes.  The  card-players  settled  their 
accounts,  and  everybody  went  out  together,  after  the  fashion 
of  all  little  country  towns. 

"  It  looks  as  if  the  prosecutor  meant  to  stop,"  said  a  lady, 
who  noticed  that  that  important  personage  was  not  in  the 
group  in  the  market-place,  where  they  all  took  leave  of  one 
another  before  going  their  separate  ways  home.  And,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  that  redoubtable  functionary  was  alone  with 


382  THE   COA'SCRIPT. 

the  Countess,  who  waited  tremblingly  till  he  should  go.  There 
was  something  appalling  in  their  long  silence. 

"Citoyenne,"  said  he  at  last,  "I  am  here  to  see  that  the 
laws  of  the  Republic  are  carried  out " 

Mme.  de  Dey  shuddered. 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"Nothing  !  "  she  answered,  in  amazement. 

"Ah!  madame,"  cried  the  prosecutor,  sitting  down  be- 
side her  and  changing  his  tone.  "At  this  moment,  for  lack 
of  a  word,  one  of  us — you  or  I — may  carry  our  heads  to  the 
scaffold.  I  have  watched  your  character,  your  soul,  your 
manner,  too  closely  to  share  the  error  into  which  you  have 
managed  to  lead  your  visitors  to-night.  You  are  expecting 
your  son,  I  could  not  doubt  it." 

The  Countess  made  an  involuntary  sign  of  denial,  but  her 
face  had  grown  white  and  drawn  with  the  struggle  to  maintain 
the  composure  that  she  did  not  feel,  and  no  tremor  was  lost 
on  the  merciless  prosecutor. 

"Very  well,"  the  Revolutionary  official  went  on,  "receive 
him  ;  but  do  not  let  him  stay  under  your  roof  after  seven 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning ;  for  to-morrow,  as  soon  as  it  is 
light,  I  shall  come  with  a  denunciation  that  I  will  have  made 
out,  and " 

She  looked  at  him,  and  the  dull  misery  in  her  eyes  would 
have  softened  a  tiger. 

"  I  will  make  it  clear  that  the  denunciation  was  false  by 
making  a  thorough  search,"  htfwent  on  in  a  gentle  voice  ;  "  my 
report  shall  be  such  that  you  will  be  safe  from  any  subsequent 
suspicion.  I  shall  make  mention  of  your  patriotic  gifts,  your 
civism,  and  all oi  us  will  be  safe." 

Mme.  de  Dey,  fearful  of  a  trap,  sat  motionless,  her  face 
afire,  her  tongue  frozen.  A  knock  at  the  door  rang  through 
the  house. 

"Oh! "  cried  the  terrified  mother,  falling  upon  her 

knees ;  "  save  him  !   save  him  !  " 


THE   CONSCRIPT.  383 

"Yes,  let  us  save  him  !  "  returned  the  public  prosecutor, 
and  his  eyes  grew  bright  as  he  looked  at  her,  "if  it  costs  us 
our  lives !  " 

"  Lost  I  "  she  wailed.     The  prosecutor  raised  her  politely. 

"  Madame,"  said  he  with  a  flourish  of  eloquence,  **  to 
your  own  free  will  alone  would  I  owe " 

"Madame,   he  is "    cried  Brigitte,  thinking  that  her 

mistress  was  alone.  At  the  sight  of  the  public  prosecutor, 
the  old  servant's  joy-flushed  countenance  became  haggard  and 
impassive. 

"  Who  is  it,  Brigitte?"  the  prosecutor  asked  kindly,  as  if 
he  too  were  in  the  secret  of  the  household. 

"  A  conscript  that  the  mayor  has  sent  here  for  a  night's 
lodging,"  the  woman  replied,  holding  out  the  billet, 

"  So  it  is,"  said  the  prosecutor,  when  he  had  read  the  slip 
of  paper.   "  A  battalion  is  coming  here  to-night." 

And  he  went. 

The  Countess'  need  to  believe  in  the  faith  of  her  sometime 
attorney  was  so  great,  that  she  dared  not  entertain  any  suspi- 
cion of  him.  She  fled  upstairs;  she  felt  scarcely  strength 
enough  to  stand ;  she  opened  the  door,  and  sprang,  half-dead 
with  fear,  into  her  son's  arms. 

"  Oh  !  my  child !  my  child  !  "  she  sobbed,  covering  him 
with  almost  frenzied  kisses. 

"  Madame  !  "  said  a  stranger's  voice. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  not  he  !  "  she  cried,  shrinking  away  in  terror, 
and  she  stood  face  to  face  with  the  conscript,  gazing  at  him 
with  haggard  eyes. 

"  Oh  saint  bon  Dieu  I  how  like  he  is  !  "  cried  Brigitte. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment ;  even  the  stranger  trembled 
at  the  sight  of  Mme.  de  Dey's  face. 

"  Ah  !  monsieur,"  she  said,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Brigitte's 
husband,  feeling  for  the  first  time  the  full  extent  of  a  sorrow 
that  had  all  but  killed  her  at  its  first  threatening  ;  "  ah  !  mon- 
sieur, I  cannot  stay  to  see  you  any  longer.    Permit  my  servants 


384  THE    CONSCRIPT. 

to  supply  my  place,  and  to  see  that  you  have  all  that  you 
want." 

She  went  down  to  her  own  room,  Brigitte  and  the  old  ser- 
ving-man half-carrying  her  between  them.  The  housekeeper 
set  her  mistress  in  a  chair,  and  broke  out — 

*'  What,  madame  !  is  that  man  to  sleep  in  Monsieur  Au- 
guste's  bed,  and  wear  Monsieur  Auguste's  slippers,  and  eat 
the  pastry  that  I  made  for  Monsieur  Auguste?  Why,  if  they 
were  to  guillotine  me  for  it,  I " 

''Brigitte  !  "  cried  Mme.  de  Dey. 

Brigitte  said  no  more. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  cliatterbox,"  said  her  husband,  in  a 
low  voice  ;  "  do  you  want  to  kill  niadame  ?  " 

A  sound  came  from  the  conscript's  room  as  he  drew  his 
chair  to  the  table. 

"  I  shall  not  stay  here,"  cried  Mme.  de  Dey;  "  I  shall  go 
into  the  conservatory  ;  I  shall  hear  better  there  if  any  one 
passes  in  the  night." 

She  still  wavered  between  the  fear  that  she  had  lost  her  son 
and  the  hope  of  seeing  him  once  more.  That  night  was  hid- 
eously silent.  Once,  for  the  Countess,  there  was  an  awful 
interval,  when  the  battalion  of  conscripts  entered  the  town, 
and  the  men  went  by,  one  by  one,  to  their  lodgings.  Every 
footfall,  every  sound  in  the  street,  raised  hopes  to  be  disap- 
pointed ;  but  it  was  not  for  long,  the  dreadful  quiet  succeeded 
again.  Towards  morning  the  Countess  was  forced  to  return 
to  her  room.  Brigitte,  ever  keeping  watch  over  her  mistress' 
movements,  did  not  see  her  come  out  again  ;  and  when  she 
went  in  she  found  the  Countess  lying  there  dead. 

"  I  expect  she  heard  that  conscript,"  cried  Brigitte,  "  walk- 
ing about  Monsieur  Auguste's  room,  whistling  that  accursed 
*  Marseillaise '  of  theirs  while  he  dressed,  as  if  he  had  been  in 
a  stable  !     That  must  have  killed  her." 

But  it  was  a  deeper  and  a  more  solemn  emotion,  and  doubt- 
less some  dreadful  vision,  that  had  caused  Mme.  de  Dey's 


THE    CONSCRIPT. 


385 


death  ;  for  at  the  very  hour  when  she  died  at  Carentan,  her 
son  was  shot  in  le  Morbihan. 

This  tragical  story  may  be  added  to  all  the  instances  on 
record  of  the  workings  of  sympathies  uncontrolled  by  the  laws 
of  time  and  space.  These  observations,  collected  with  scien- 
tific curiosity  by  a  few  isolated  individuals,  will  one  day  serve 
as  documents  on  which  to  base  the  foundations  of  a  new 
science  which  hitherto  has  lacked  its  man  of  genius. 

Paris,  February,  1831. 


25 


UCSB  UBRkU 


X  SOUTHERN  REGONAl.  LSRABY  FAOUTY 

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A    000  664  899    2 


